


The Herons

by gracefultree



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Anxiety Attacks, Harold's not a billionaire, John didn't go to CIA, M/M, Or Is he?, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Therapy, Veteran's Association
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 41,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: After being honorably discharged from the army in 2006, John has some adventures in anger management and prison.  He ends up at the VA in New York for mandatory therapy and meets a sweet middle-aged volunteer named Harold.





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> My newest AU, with only tangential references to canon because most of the story takes place beforehand. Enjoy!

Sergeant Major, First Class (retired) John Harris shuffled into the dimly-lit waiting room and surveyed the inhabitants before settling in an uncomfortable chair in the far corner. He closed his eyes. He was three hours early for his intake appointment, so he might as well get some rest. He certainly felt safer in this little room than the flea-bitten flophouse where he supposedly lived. 

“Excuse me, sir…” 

John startled awake at the soft voice, reaching for the gun that wasn’t there. After two years, it still wasn’t there, and likely never would be again thanks to some mild nerve damage that made his fingers tingle and go numb occasionally. 

The man in front of him was at least six inches shorter than John, with circular wire-rimmed glasses over a face rounding on the cusp of middle age. His spiky haircut and wide eyes made him seem as surprised as John felt. 

“I’m so sorry for startling you,” the man was saying. “I’ve been avoiding this corner to let you rest, but my shift’s almost over, so I really can’t help it any longer.” 

John looked him over more carefully. He held an orange plastic watering can in one hand. John blinked. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw the half-dozen scraggly plants that his chair blocked. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, getting to his feet and moving aside so the man could do his job. 

“It’s really no problem,” the man said. “I’ve been volunteering here for years now, and I saw them replacing the plants rather than take care of them, so I decided I might as well try this instead. I’m not a gardener, per se, but I have a few houseplants that seem to do all right, and I abhor waste.” 

John let the man rattle on, a small smile of amusement on his face. 

“I’m Harold, by the way,” the man added, extending a hand. John took it, feeling smooth skin and a firm grip that wasn’t trying to test his own strength. 

“John,” he answered. 

“It’s good to meet you. Are you new to the VA?” 

John felt a moment of sharp anxiety at the question, but forced himself to relax. Harold volunteered here. He obviously knew what vets were like. 

“Been back state-side a few years,” John answered.  “New to New York.” 

Harold smiled more broadly. “Welcome! If you need help finding things here at the VA, I’m here to direct the way, and if you need any tips about the city, I’ve been here 30 years and probably know the answer.” 

“Thanks,” John said, feeling awkward in the face of Harold’s friendliness. 

“No problem. I’m here Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, between 2 and 4.” 

“That seems like a big commitment during the workweek,” John commented. 

“Well, I have a flexible work schedule and my father was a veteran before he passed. I’ve always felt that he would be proud that I help others like him, even in this small way.” 

“It sounds like you were young when he died.” 

“Twenty,” Harold agreed. “Guns frankly terrify me, so I’m not suited to the military myself, but I respect those who protect our country and I want to do what I can to support them.” 

“Harris, John!” called a woman from the front of the room. She had a military bearing and wore a dark blue pantsuit reminiscent of a uniform. She held a manilla folder in her hands. 

“That’s me,” John said to Harold with an attempt at a smile. He really hoped this woman wasn’t going to be his therapist. He wanted someone softer, without the stick up her ass. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Harold replied. 

. 

. 

. 


	2. John's Reason for Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out more of why John needs therapy.

John was assigned a weekly appointment with a therapist per the orders of the court and his probation officer. He spent the first few weeks trying to amaze her with stories from overseas, then switched to trying to garner sympathy by talking about losing his father at eight years old. When that didn’t work, he talked about keeping the bullies in line at school and basketball and Jessica, which had him talking about 9/11, reenlisting, and the incident which ended his military career — including the Purple Heart and his frustration with the nerve damage and shrapnel scars all along his left arm — his dominant side. He even allowed himself to tell her about how Jessie, when they got back together, had been repulsed by the scars, and how much that hurt. 

Eventually the therapist’s patience wore out and she confronted him about his avoidant behavior. 

“We need to talk about why you’re really here,” Dr. Iris Campbell declared at the beginning of one of their sessions, two months into John’s treatment. She wasn’t a vet herself, but she came from a family of veterans and police officers, and she was extremely insightful about how John’s mind worked. Better than he himself, sometimes. 

He thought she was too young and pretty to work at the VA with retired old soldiers and their quasi-lecherous ways. 

“I’m here to get better,” John replied with ease. He knew why he was there. He didn’t need the reminder. 

“You’re here to learn how to manage your anger,” she corrected. “At least, that’s what the court papers say.” 

“Yeah, and what do you say?” he asked belligerently. He really didn’t need this conversation. His skin started feeling tight and he noticed the first signs of sweat under his arms. 

“I think you’re here because you’re having trouble adjusting to civilian life and dealing with all the civilians who have no idea what it was like over there. You were arrested because you punched your boss because you were angry with him, but beyond that you were frustrated and overwhelmed by all the demands put on you to dress a certain way, act a certain way, respond to people a certain way, except you didn’t have the tools to know what those ways were. In the army, you didn’t get to pick your own clothes, and you wore the same thing as everyone else when you were over there. You weren’t used to being responsible for your housing or food or bills or even your social circle.” 

“So you think if you can teach me some of those things, I’ll stop getting angry?” 

“No,” she said gently. “You’ll still get angry; that happens to everyone. You’ll just learn how to deal with it better.” 

John leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Huh.” 

. 

. 

. 

“Hello, John.” 

“Harold, hi.” 

“How did your session go?” Harold wondered, falling into step beside John as he walked to the elevator. 

Walking to the elevator together was the post-therapy ritual they’d developed, and John looked forward to it even more than the therapy, most weeks. He liked Harold; the man was nice, friendly, and even better, didn’t want anything from him. He accepted that John might be moody, that he might not want to talk, and that was ok, too. He was often willing to do all of the talking between them, as he was an avid reader and knew a lot of things about a lot of subjects and would respond to John’s half-hearted wonderings with a rambling explanation or answer to his question. 

“She made me think about something new,” John admitted. Harold made a sound of acknowledgement. “More like she made me think of an old thing in a new way.” 

“Ah, that sounds like therapy,” Harold replied. “I’ve never tried it, but friends have said that happens.” 

“Don’t think you need therapy?” John teased, bumping against his shoulder. 

“I probably do,” Harold answered, smiling up at him. “But I’d rather talk to friends.” 

“Am I one of those friends?” John heard himself ask without thinking. He’d lowered his voice conspiratorially as he asked, surprising himself with the interest in his tone. 

“Would you like to be?” Harold glanced up at John through his eyelashes in an obviously practiced and slightly wooden expression. John thought he was trying to be coy, but something about his face and voice made the attempt fall flat. The elevator opened in front of them before John could come up with an answer, confused by the mixed signals. “I’ll see you next week, John. Be well.” 

“Bye,” John said, feeling a twinge of loss watching Harold walk away to his next assignment escorting someone to their appointment. 

Had Harold actually been flirting with him seriously? Was he simply more socially awkward that John had thought? 

How did he know John swung for both teams? 

Most importantly: Did he want Harold to be flirting with him? 

He was starting to suspect the answer was yes. 

. 

. 

. 


	3. John's Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a crush on a particular volunteer and needs to talk about it with his therapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God this story has completely and 100% taken over all of my fanfiction-brain! I can't stop writing! The only problem is that the scenes are coming out of order and it's taking some time to finagle them into the proper place in the narrative.
> 
> DADT: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell  
> (The law that Lesbian/gay/bisexual service members in the US armed forces weren’t allowed to be out that was on the books from 1994-2011. No one was allowed to ask about someone’s sexual orientation or reveal their own, if they were other than straight. People were also able to be dismissed from the military for being caught in gay/lesbian/bi sexual situations.)

“I think I have a crush on someone,” John blurted as soon as he was seated in Dr. Campbell’s office the week following the odd exchange with Harold. “I haven’t had a crush in _years_.” 

“Oh?” She let her elbow rest on the arm of her chair and rested her chin on her hand. John liked that position because it meant she was paying more attention to him. She wasn’t occupied writing notes on everything he said to analyze later. He was pretty sure she did that in her spare time… 

“Is this someone you know, or just someone you’ve seen from afar?” she asked. 

“One of the volunteers here, actually. We met when I came for my intake appointment.” 

Her eyes dimmed slightly as she turned her attention inwards, no doubt going over the list of volunteers in her mind and picking out which were the likely candidates for John’s affections. 

“How well do you know each other?” she asked, picking up her pen. 

John paused, testing his answer in his head. “Not well. We’ve chatted a few times. I, uh, I think we’ve been flirting for a few weeks. I hadn’t realized, but suddenly last week — I was flirting. I hadn’t meant to, I think, but there it was in my voice. Innuendo. Interest.” 

“Are you having trouble figuring out what flirting is?” 

“It’s hard to tell, sometimes. I mean, it could just be friendliness, right? I shouldn’t put my hopes on a few smiles, right? A few words with a certain tone? It was like, half the answer was right, but the other half was completely off, like it was awkward, trying too hard.” 

“Your hopes, huh? It sounds like you’re interested. Like you want it to be flirting.” 

“I haven’t dated anyone since Jessie, and I fucked that up real good,” John mumbled. “Sex is one thing, you know? It’s easy. If this is real…” 

“Maintaining relationships is difficult,” she suggested. “They never teach you that in school or the movies, do they? It’s all about ‘the one true love’ and ‘happily ever after.’ It’s never about the arguments about bills or taking out the trash or who pays for dinner. I’d say that the best thing you can do is be honest about your feelings.” 

“I don’t know what they are!” He tugged on his hair in frustration. 

“You said earlier that you have a crush. How do you know that?” 

“I get tongue-tied. I smile like an idiot.” 

Iris smiled in response. “That sounds like a crush. Is she interested back?” 

John’s enthusiasm left with rush of sourness in his stomach. That’s right, she didn’t know. Why would she, though? He’d only ever mentioned Jessie. 

“John?” she asked, shifting forward in her seat, the pen forgotten in her hand. “Is something wrong?” 

“It’s, um, he’s a guy,” he stuttered, his eyes focused on the gray-blue rug under his feet. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry for assuming —” 

“No, I didn’t say —” 

They both stopped, then met each other’s eyes and smiled at how they spoke over each other, something that had rarely happened between them. 

“You’ve probably heard this kind of thing before,” John started. “Guys in the closet about this. Does ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ apply in here?” 

“No, John, it doesn’t,” she said reassuringly. “You’re certainly not the first man who’s come in here admitting he’s attracted to other men.” 

“Sometimes I wish I was gay,” John admitted. “It’d be much simpler. ‘I like guys,’ and that’s it. But when you like _both_ … the straight guys all think you’re really gay and are going to come on to them, and the gay guys think you’re in a holding pattern until you find a woman. And the _women_ — half of them don’t believe you if you bother to bring it up, and the other half want threesomes.” 

“I take it none of those scenarios apply to you?” 

“I’m a traditional guy. When I’m with someone, I just want to be with her. Or him, I guess. I’ve never wanted a threesome, or anything like that. You have to pretend in the barracks, but that’s not really me. 

“I like women. I’ve always liked women. But sometimes a guy catches my eye, you know? And when you’re overseas, it can’t be anything more than physical, not with DADT on the books.” 

“You sound disappointed,” she commented. 

“Maybe I am,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe, with a guy, maybe it could last more than six months.” He sighed. “I’m a civilian now. Maybe I could be ‘out.’ Maybe I could unlearn all the hiding I was forced to do when serving.” 

“It’s a hard path, coming out,” she said. “Especially as former-military.” 

“Yeah,” John grunted. “Especially as bisexual.” 

They sat in silence contemplating his statement for a moment. 

“This man you’re interested in, do you know if he likes men, too?” 

“No idea. I just get this feeling like we’re connecting. Like he’s flirting back, or trying to. He’s not the most socially adept.” John paused, picturing Harold in his mind. “He starts talking about something and just keeps going. It’s adorable.” 

“Yeah, I think you have a crush,” she commented. “Would you be willing to risk asking him out? To coffee, maybe? Something that could be considered friendship if you needed it to be?” 

John shook his head. “Not yet,” he answered softly. “I want to be sure he won’t be offended first.” 

. 

. 

. 


	4. Is Harold in?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that John has admitted that he has a crush, he looks for his friendly volunteer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter while I sort out the next, longer one. Enjoy!

“Is Harold in today?” John asked at the front desk. He hadn’t seen him on his way downstairs after therapy and felt incomplete without their usual greeting and few minutes of quasi-flirting. He hadn’t seen him on the way into the building, either, but that wasn’t unusual. “The volunteer with the glasses, who waters the plants?” he continued when he received a confused look from the receptionist. 

“He’s talking about Harold Heron, I think,” said a nurse passing by the desk who overheard John’s question. “He’s out sick,” he explained to John. “He sometimes reads to the children in daycare while they wait for their parents,” he added. “Bethany mentioned that the kids were disappointed he wasn’t here today.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize he was so popular,” John murmured, ducking his head because he felt a flush on his cheeks. 

“Yeah, we like him. He’s been volunteering for five or six years, I think, and does a bunch of different tasks depending on the day.” 

“He said he’d been around a while.” John turned to the receptionist and gave her his most disarming smile. “I don’t suppose you could give me his number so I could check up on him, make sure he’s not really sick?” 

“I’m sorry, sir…” 

“Sorry, man, no can do,” the nurse interrupted, slapping John on the back in a friendly manner that John would have appreciated more if he’d been expecting it — or still in the barracks where it happened all the time. “Confidentiality. We couldn’t give him your number, either.” He paused, eyeing John up and down. “I could pass on that you asked for him, though,” he offered slyly. 

“It’s not that,” John replied, feeling defensive at how much innuendo the nurse put in his voice — far more than John felt comfortable with, even after therapy and admitting his crush to Iris. “Will someone else water the plants while he’s out?” 

The nurse and receptionist exchanged a look. “He brings in the watering can from home,” the receptionist said after a pause, now knowing who they were discussing. “The orange one, right? I’ve seen him with it. He’s the only one who cares that much.” 

“Thanks,” John said, turning to leave, his thoughts already on where the nearest hardware store was and how much a watering can would cost and whether or not Harold would appreciate his efforts to make sure the plants got watered that week. 

. 

. 

. 


	5. Meeting in the Hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold meet in the hallway of the VA. They start talking. Harold mentions someone named Grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters to date, mostly because we see a little more about Harold and how he is in the AU. I'm planning a few chapters from his PoV, but for now we'll stick to John's. Please enjoy!

“Nurse Michael informed me that someone watered the plants for me last week,” Harold said in greeting when John left his therapy appointment. He’d clearly been loitering outside the waiting room in the hopes of seeing John. Dressed in his usual dark slacks, he’d added a light blue dress shirt, brown sweater-vest and dark patterned tie instead of the white shirt and striped tie combination he almost always wore. John had a wild hope that he’d dressed up on the chance of seeing him. “Thank you.” 

John grinned, pleased at the attention. “How did you know it was me?” 

“First of all, he said there was a, quote, gorgeous silver fox, unquote, asking about me,” Harold answered, his eyes sparkling. “Who else could it be?” 

“I’m not that silver yet, am I?” John replied, trying for flirtation despite the sudden feeling of bitter vanity in the back of his throat. He certainly didn’t want Harold to think of him as old! 

Harold reached up and ran his fingers through the hair at John’s temple. “You won’t be able to deny it in a few years,” he answered. “I think it’ll suit you, make you look distinguished.” 

John’s chest puffed out and he stood up straighter at the praise. It was turning out to be a fabulous day! Sweetness replaced the bitterness and he wondered if the sun had just come out to make the room brighter. _God, what a pathetic thing to think,_ he muttered to himself silently. _This crush is making me stupid._

“Was there another reason you thought it was me?” he wondered, seeing if he could snag another compliment or touch. He felt the sudden urge to take Harold’s hand but refrained. Too soon to do something that blatant without knowing Harold’s thoughts — though Harold touching his hair gave him a pretty good clue to his disposition. 

“None of my colleagues would have done it. When I went to Italy last year with Grace for two weeks, no one watered them and half of them died. You’re the only new person in my life lately, so it had to be you.” 

John felt a pang of jealousy towards the aforementioned Grace totally inappropriate to the situation, even as he felt an excited flash of hope at hearing that he was the only ‘new person’ in Harold’s life. Harold had never mentioned Grace before, and to go to Italy for two whole weeks with someone implied a certain closeness. 

“How sick were you?” he asked to avoid that train of thought. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Harold replied with a vague wave of his hand. “Just a cold, but Grace likes to fuss, and I couldn’t say no to her chicken soup. She had me bundled on the sofa in blankets watching British comedy for three days drinking tea, orange juice, and soup. I don’t think I saw solid food outside a cracker until four days ago. She wouldn’t even let me work!” Harold seemed truly affronted by Grace keeping him from work. 

John kept himself from asking about her by biting his lip. Who was she? Sister? Roommate? _Girlfriend?_ She probably wasn’t a wife, as Harold didn’t wear a ring. At least there was that small comfort. That Harold mentioned her _twice_ in as many sentences seemed excessive for simply a friend, though… and that she was able to keep him from working when he was sick… and was clearly around often enough to uphold her decree… 

“…Don’t tell her, but I managed to sneak in some work when she thought I was asleep at night,” Harold added conspiratorially. 

“You never said what you do for work,” John pointed out. 

“Oh, I’m a freelance programer. One of my jobs has me going to the office a few days a week, but they’ll let me work from home if I need to, and the other jobs are entirely telecommuting. I make my own hours, most of the time, so sometimes I stay up late working. It’s part of what allows me to volunteer here.” 

John nodded, wondering what to say next to assess whether or not Grace was a romantic partner without seeming to pry or be too direct. 

“I was thinking… why don’t I give you my number?” Harold continued. 

John gaped as Harold produced a business card from his pocket and handed it over, his fingertips lingering on John’s palm. 

“My cell number’s on the back,” Harold explained. “You could call or text, whichever’s more convenient.” He paused, then glanced away. “If you wanted to, of course.” 

John swallowed through a lump in his throat as Harold continued talking. “You had this ready to give to me?” he asked when Harold stopped to take a breath. His voice didn’t hitch or squeak. Not a bit. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m not… always good at… reading people,” Harold said haltingly, visibly nervous, his fingers twitching as he wrung his hands. “Grace suggested this might be a safe way to gauge your interest.” 

“My interest?” John repeated, feeling inordinately slow. Perhaps it was Harold’s rambling discourse on the ways they might communicate that confused him. Harold hadn’t mentioned Morse Code or smoke signals or telegrams, but he’d gone so far as to inform John that he’d taken a calligraphy class ten years ago and if John wanted to use pen and paper for novelty or security or sentimentality, he’d be more than happy to dust off his fountain pens and give it a try. 

Then again, Harold could be using his cute sweater-vest as a way to figure out if John had a Teacher/student kink, or maybe a Daddy/boy kink, neither of which excited John at all, and John wouldn’t have any idea, given how circuitous and unclear half of what he said seemed to John in that moment. 

“You get anxious, don’t you?” John wondered, hoping that mentioning it might help Harold relax and clarify what he was trying to say. Simply giving John his number with the casual palm-stroke would have been enough, but then he’d gone and confused them both. 

They stared at each other for a moment. 

Harold abruptly turned away, muttering to himself as he adjusted his glasses. “Damn it. This isn’t at all how I pictured it.” He turned back to John, attempting a smile. “I’m gay,” he blurted awkwardly and a little too loudly for the hallway. One of the older guys passing them gave a grunt of disapproval but moved on at John’s glare. “I like you. I wanted to —“ 

John took Harold’s face in both hands and kissed him — quick and sweet, just a peck, really — not caring about the people who could be seeing them. He finally had an answer he could understand and wanted Harold, who wasn’t good at reading people, apparently, but who was fine blurting out his sexuality in a crowded VA hallway, to have a definite answer of his own. 

Yes, John was interested in him. 

“Oh, my,” Harold breathed. His cheeks were warm under John’s fingers. His glasses had gone foggy. John dropped his hands from Harold’s face and took half a step back to give him his personal space. Harold carefully wiped his glasses again. 

“Have dinner with me,” John suggested. “I can’t take us anywhere too pricy…” 

“Friday? Eight? I’ll text you a few places I like and you can choose?” 

“Yeah, that sounds great.” 

Harold reached out and squeezed John’s hand. “I look forward to it,” he said, his eyes sparkling brighter than they’d sparkled before. John squeezed back, smiling wider than he’d been smiling before. 

. 

. 

. 


	6. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold's first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about leaving the entire date as one chapter, but I'm a tease.

John texted Harold immediately upon leaving the VA building when he realized that while he had Harold’s number, Harold certainly didn’t have his yet and would need it to suggest restaurants for their date. It was definitely a date, he decided. He’d been pretty clear in asking, and the kiss had given Harold the data that he was interested. He got a response instantly, as if Harold had been waiting. He probably had been. 

They texted back and forth all week, simple little texts and comments about their days. John was slowly learning to use his thumbs to text instead of his index finger after a recommendation from Harold, and the few egregious spelling errors as he learned the new skill gave them fodder for laughter. It was fun. More fun that he usually had getting to know someone. 

It turned out that even with the frequent texting, they’d missed a few key questions a person usually asked a potential partner, as John discovered Friday night. 

“What have you been doing since you came back to the States?” Harold asked over the ‘absolute best shepherd’s pie in the city’ he’d ordered. Harold had supplied six restaurant options, ranging in price from street food off a cart (‘you’d be surprised at the authenticity of the falafel’) to an expensive restaurant owned by a celebrity chef. John chose the Irish pub, midway through the list. His weekly budget for eating out wasn’t large, but he by scrimping all week he’d been able to save enough to treat Harold to a nice dinner and a glass or two of wine/beer. 

And he should be able to keep doing it, assuming he got work. He was averaging three days a week. Better than nothing, but not ideal. 

John, marveling at the beef stew in front of him, frowned briefly. He put down the dark stout in his hand, sipped but once. “Odd jobs, mostly,” he admitted. “Construction, painting. It’s hard, coming back. I got back together with someone from my past, broke up a few months later. That first year, I hit the bottle pretty hard,” he continued. “Knocked out my boss for firing me just after the break-up.” 

“Oh, dear!” 

“You should probably know I spent six months in prison,” John said, feeling his heretofore delicious dinner turn to lead in his stomach. “Should’ve been a year, but I got out early on good behavior.” 

“I’ve never known anyone who’s been in jail more than 72 hours,” Harold said. “I can’t imagine it was pleasant?” 

John gave a dry huff of humorless laughter. “No, it wasn’t pleasant. I was in a minimum security place in Colorado, so it could have been a lot worse. I avoided the gangs, dried out. I’ll be on probation another ten, twelve months, but after that things should get easier. Maybe I’ll get a job that’s more than painting houses or doing odd construction and handyman jobs.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with those jobs,” Harold protested. 

“I guess, but I feel like I have more potential than that, you know? Like I could be out there helping people. Or get a degree. I got an Associate’s online, but it’d be good to have a real college degree. It’d help me get a better job.” 

“I’m sure you can find a way to do those things,” Harold said. “And I know the VA has career counseling.” 

“True, and there’s the GI bill. I could go to school,” John mused. “I have no idea what I’d study, though.” 

“How did you end up in New York? I don’t imagine they transfer people across the country just for probation very often?” 

“I petitioned the judge. Told him that I needed a fresh start in a new city. I gave him four places I thought would be ok, and he chose New York.” He took a bite of his stew, finding it flavorful again now that Harold hadn’t run screaming. “I’m lucky, and I know it. I got my six-month chip when I was inside, and the judge must have been feeling lenient that day because my probation doesn’t require a breathalyzer, just random drug screenings. Not that I ever did any of that stuff,” he rushed to add. “Hell, for all I know, he was a vet himself and wanted to give me a break.” 

“John, this doesn’t make me think any less of you,” Harold declared, resting a hand on John’s. “In fact, I admire your courage to tell me on a first date.” 

“If you were gonna dump me because of it, I had to know,” John said. 

“I know. Or, rather, I can imagine.” Harold took his hand back. “I spent an uncomfortable night in jail for —“ He cleared his throat. “— Defacing university property when I was a freshman.” 

John burst out laughing at the bruised tone Harold used. Harold joined quickly in. 

“I — I don’t think the — government — knows what it’s in for with — two — such _hardened_ criminals — in the same place at the same time!” Harold exclaimed though his laughter. “It was how I met my two best friends from school, actually. We ended up in the same holding cell.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m not going to judge you for that, not when you’re doing your best to make up for it. And you got out early, which is a good thing. Honorable.” 

“Thank you,” John said seriously. “It’s not many people who would understand.” 

“John, we all make mistakes,” Harold said soothingly. “I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t offer you consideration for yours and still expect your consideration of mine.” 

John let out a breath in relief, his shoulders relaxing as tension drained away. 

. 

. 

. 


	7. First Date, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John escorts Harold to his building, as any good date would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we learn more about Harold Heron... 
> 
> Warnings for discussions of sex & sexuality.

John escorted Harold to his building, as any good date would do. Harold invited him up for a nightcap, having ascertained that John drank occasionally. (One beer at dinner, maybe a single scotch or bourbon later, and nothing before six o’clock or after eleven, John explained. He didn’t feel the pull of alcohol the way true alcoholics did, but he wanted to be careful.)  


“Grace is staying with her sister, on the off-chance that you and I might…”  


“…Want privacy?” John suggested when Harold trailed off. Now that he knew Grace wasn’t a rival for Harold’s affections, he felt much calmer hearing about her. She was a good friend and Harold’s roommate. That was all.  


Harold being _gay_ helped a lot, too.  


“Right,” Harold agreed nervously. He opened the door to the apartment and flipped some light switches, revealing a short hallway to a living room. Half was set up traditionally, with a couch and television, DVDs and a huge number of books on shelves, but the other half had drop-cloths on the floor and an artist’s easel, paints, and other artistic paraphernalia John couldn’t identify. “Grace is the artist,” Harold explained. “She paints landscapes, mostly, and has had some luck with magazine covers and illustrations,” he added. “She’s done the illustrations for several children’s books, too, and I’m so proud of her for that… We’ve known each other ten years, you know, and lived together seven…”  


John stepped up to Harold and took him in his arms, rubbing his hands up and down Harold’s stiff back. “There’s no need to be nervous with me, Harold,” he murmured into Harold’s hair. “You’d have to be extremely persuasive to get sex from me on a first date,” he continued in a low voice. “I don’t want this to be a hook-up.”  


He felt Harold’s body relax against him, heard the relieved breath, an echo of how he’d felt earlier in the evening.  


“I, uh, I didn’t realize I was being so transparent,” Harold whispered. He raised his arms slowly, returning the hug. “I am a bit nervous, I suppose.”  


“I’ll be honest. I’ve only dated women. But I figure some of the same rules apply, like no sex on the first date.” John tilted Harold’s head up so their eyes met. “Just tell me when to stop and I’ll stop,” he promised, bending to kiss Harold.  


Harold opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. They did an awkward shimmy-step across the room to the couch, where they sat, still kissing.  


“What do you like, Harold?” John whispered, nuzzling and kissing Harold’s throat above his collar.  


“Tall, strong men,” Harold responded without hesitation. “I like when they take over, move me around.”  


“Yeah? You want me to manhandle you?” He started plucking at Harold’s tie. Harold reached up to help him. Together they removed the tie and opened Harold’s collar, then a few buttons more, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair. John pressed his nose against it, kissing Harold’s skin.  


“Nothing too dramatic,” Harold clarified. “But, yes.” John nipped at his collarbone, making Harold gasp.  


They made out and necked for 25 minutes, hands exploring over clothes, taking it slow. John pulled Harold into his lap, then lowered him to his back, pressing his weight onto him. Harold arched and moaned, clutching at John’s arms and kissing him deeply.  


“How long’s it been since you’ve done this?” John asked, the heel of his hand pressed to Harold’s still-clothed erection.  


God, Harold responded well, his body alive to every touch, every kiss. He felt excited with Harold. He felt young. He wanted it to last forever — and this was only the first date!  


“Too long,” Harold replied. “A couple years. I haven’t had much luck dating,” he elaborated. “And the club scene is decidedly not mine,” he added acerbically.  


John chuckled, already feeling fond of the man. “No reason it has to be,” he agreed. “Do we know each other well enough for me to give you a blowjob before I go?”  


Harold sighed and closed his eyes, a sudden stillness in his expression. John felt the mood shift. “I suppose it’s my turn to be honest,” Harold said after a moment, a caution in his voice John didn’t like. He pressed a hand to John’s chest to separate them.  


John moved back instantly, climbing off Harold and sitting up. Harold adopted the same posture, though he sat more stiffly. His eyes were closed off and John sensed that he felt wary of telling John whatever ‘honest’ thing he needed to say. John wondered what he was about to discover. — HIV? AIDS? Something worse?  


He could deal with HIV or AIDS. That’s what condoms were for! And while he didn’t like the taste of silicon when he sucked dick, he’d be willing to do it if Harold needed it. Or simply wanted it. He was flexible.  


What else could it be? A bad experience of some kind? Maybe Harold hated giving head and was embarrassed to refuse to reciprocate? Hell, John would be happy with a handjob.  


Wait, did oral sex count as sex? Maybe it did for Harold and he’d just invalidated his own promise to not have sex tonight by suggesting it…  


“I have more — theoretical knowledge than actual practice,” Harold admitted in a flat voice.  


John blinked slowly a few times, processing Harold’s words. “Are you saying…”  


“I’ve never had intercourse. With a man, anyway. I had a few girlfriends in high school and college, before I admitted to myself I was gay, but… it never did much for me.”  


Silence stretched for a moment.  


“I’m comfortable with handjobs and blowjobs, just not so soon into knowing someone. Making out like we’ve done is about what I can handle right now. Holding hands… If that’s —“  


“You called me brave earlier when I talked about prison. I’d say you’re just as brave to admit that,” John interrupted. “Maybe more.”  


“It’s just, you’re supposed to figure it out sooner, experiment when you’re young… I know that, and yet… I came from a small town. There were 50 people in my high school class. We all knew each other. And no one’s really understood me fully, even my best friend from college, Nathan, or my other good friend Arthur. Grace is the only person I’ve felt truly comfortable with,” Harold babbled, the words rushing over themselves in their haste to escape his mouth. “And even with her in my life, I feel so lonely sometimes, and none of the men I’ve dated have been particularly understanding…”  


John took both of Harold’s hands, startling him into stopping the flow of words.  


“Breathe, Harold. It’s ok.”  


“I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and I don’t want to mess it up, and —“  


“Breathe,” John repeated kindly.  


“As you can tell, I get anxious sometimes. Really anxious. This isn’t even so bad. Sometimes I —“  


“Harold!”  


Harold shut his mouth, looking startled more than frightened.  


“First of all, don’t worry. I’m not here for sex. And I won’t leave because it’s not on the table tonight. Second, not all gay men like anal sex! Some _never_ do it.”  


“Really?”  


“Yeah. There was this pamphlet in the hospital where I did rehab once. ‘Ten Myths About Gay Men,’ or something like that. Backed by science.”  


Harold laughed weakly.  


“Third of all, if I happen to be the guy who pops your cherry, and that’s a big _if_ because I don’t want to assume anything or get too ahead of ourselves, but if I’m that guy, I’m gonna make damn sure you like it and are 100% on board with it happening!”  


“It’s hard to believe you’re so understanding,” Harold said softly.  


“Honestly, I’m kind of surprising myself a little. I don’t usually talk this much. I’m not usually the one who’s good at calming people down. I just know that I don’t want to do anything that makes you this upset.”  


Harold sighed more comfortably and settled against John, resting his head on John’s shoulder. John threw an arm around him and gave him a sideways hug.  


“I’m not here for a blowjob, either,” John murmured after a moment. “It’d be nice, but if that’s too fast for you, I get it.”  


“Do you?”  


“I think so. I want to.”  


Harold picked up John’s free hand and twined his fingers with John’s. “I like your hands,” he said. John squeezed. “The men I’ve been most attracted to over the years seem to have had the least patience with my need to move slowly. We’d go on a few dates, I’d start to feel comfortable, we’d have oral sex, then they’d disappear when I wasn’t ready to move farther within a few more dates.”  


“They sound like douchbags,” John declared vehemently.  


“Yes, well, apparently I’ve been breaking some unwritten rule that all gay men have sex on the first date and every date thereafter,” Harold grumbled. “Or that we’re supposed to have sex _first_ , even before knowing each other’s names.” He sighed. “May I ask you a question, if it’s not too personal?”  


John raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Shoot.”  


“You mentioned a few minutes ago that you’ve only dated women. When we kissed, however…” Harold trailed off awkwardly.  


“That’s not too personal,” John said with a small laugh. “I’m bisexual.”  


“Oh. What’s that like?”  


John shrugged. “Like I was telling my therapist, sometimes it’s great, but sometimes it’s the opposite. A lot of people assume I won’t be satisfied with just them, or they think I’ll cheat on them with the other gender, or that I’ll be into threesomes. There’s a lot of assumptions that bi folks are promiscuous, or only into casual sex. That has its place, and I’ve done casual sex, but I’m interested in a relationship right now. A monogamous one.”  


Harold smiled tentatively at that, lowering his head to look at their clasped hands. “Me, too,” he whispered. John nodded in acknowledgment and continued.  


“Also, some people think I’m just lying about being gay, while others think I’m angling for straight privilege. And then there’s the people who don’t know what bisexual is or don’t think it’s a real thing.”  


“It seems that there are just as many damaging stereotypes for bisexuals as there are for gays and lesbians,” Harold commented. John shrugged again.  


“Do you know why you need to move slowly?” John wondered after another minute.  


“The most basic answer is that I don’t trust easily, I suppose. I’m a very private person by nature.”  


“So, not either way?”  


Harold stared blankly for a moment before he realized what John asked. “No, not that way, either. Again, I — I was never sure I could trust myself, let alone them. And I hadn’t liked it with women, so I figured it wouldn’t do much for me. Not that I had _anal_ sex with women,” he muttered. "It just doesn't strike me as different enough to be interesting."   


“You’d be surprised,” John said.  


“You’ve —“ Harold shut his mouth quickly. “No, it’s too soon to ask that.”  


John laughed again. “Harold, I switch it up. Men, women, whatever my partner and I want in the moment.”  


“Oh.” Harold’s cheeks were pink.  


John kept the smile on his face and he leaned over to whisper in his ear. “As long as we’re both comfortable, I’m open to trying anything at least once.”  


Harold swallowed thickly. He squeezed John’s hand. The flush spread down his neck.  


John thought of young, twenty-something Harold — skinny, with huge, ugly glasses, socially awkward — trying to date men. Older men, probably, given his comment about gray hair. What would his 35 year-old potential lover do if Harold wanted to stop in the middle of having sex? If he freaked out?  


He doubted the guy would be happy.  


Would _he_ be able to stop? he asked himself. Would he be able to put the breaks on if he were pressing his dick against Harold’s ass, ready to push in?  


He hoped so.  


With women, he knew he had to be able to stop at any moment. They were smaller and more fragile than he was, and he could hurt them if he didn’t listen to their words and body language. If she wasn’t ready, he wasn’t going in. If she decided she was done when he was halfway in, or all the way in, or anywhere in between — they were done. _Of course_ they were done.  


He’d never been stopped by a man in that situation. He’d been told no at clubs or bars, before any clothes came off, and that didn’t do much more than sting for a little while. He’d been told to _slow down_ often enough, but that never ended the sex, just paused it for a little while, usually because they had to stretch whomever was receiving a little more before the main event, and on one memorable occasion the man underneath him had said, _hold up, cowboy, I need to reposition._  


He’d never had to stop suddenly with a man. He supposed he was lucky in that respect.  


He looked at Harold, seeing his nervousness. Seeing his fear that John wouldn’t want to see him again after admitting something so humiliating — that he was a forty-something virgin to gay sex.  


He saw Harold’s excitement and hope — masked, perhaps, but there nonethesame.  


He thought about how quickly he’d backed away when Harold tensed earlier, and how he’d gotten off him and sat up without being asked, how Harold had needed the distance to tell his story. He thought about his own dick, already soft since there wasn’t anything sexy happening. He wondered if he shouldn’t have touched Harold’s dick…  


Clearly, they’d need to talk about this some more if they were going to continue to see each other.  


“Maybe this is a good thing,” John mused aloud. Harold looked up in surprise. “That we’ll have to take our time, I mean. I told you already I’ve never dated a man. My experience is almost all sexual.”  


“You’re saying we might balance each other out?” Harold asked, his grip tightening. “Your inexperience dating a man and my sexual inexperience?”  


“I think so. We’ll have to keep talking about it.”  


“No doubt,” Harold said under his breath.  


“By the way, in case it helps, I have a clean bill of health,” John added with a wink.  


Harold laughed, already much more relaxed than a few minutes ago when he’d first leaned against John’s side. “As do I,” he murmured. “For now, though, let’s stay like this.”  


John left thirty minutes later, a few kisses and the promise of a second date buoying him up as he took the subway home.  


.  


.  


.


	8. Second Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold's POV of their second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now... Harold's POV! Enjoy!

“I didn’t want to be too familiar with your friend here, but I have to say, Harold, you’re in a _very_ good mood,” Pia Moresco said as she collected the bill from Harold. 

He smiled up at the waitress. “To be honest, I rather think I am,” he responded. “I haven’t had a second date go this well in… two years? Three? Something like that.” 

“So it _was_ a date!” she exclaimed happily. “We were wondering,” she added, a vague motion of her head indicating the other servers who were loitering at the far end of the restaurant by the kitchens. “He’s a looker, all right. You’ve got good taste.” 

“Thank you.” 

“So, since it’s still early, are there plans after lunch?” 

“I thought I’d take him to a movie,” Harold said. “I fear it’s a commonplace date, a meal and a movie, you know, but it seemed like a good idea when I planned it.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she declared, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “Me and Joey, we did that a lot when we were first dating. Sometimes you gotta go with the classics.” 

“How is your Mr. Durban?” 

“Itching to get home,” she answered. “Another year, eighteen months until he’s back with me.” 

“I hope the waiting goes quickly for you,” Harold murmured. “And safely for him.” 

“Thanks, Harold, we do, too.” She smiled prettily and excused herself as John returned to the table from the restroom. 

“Gossiping about me, Harold?” he asked, a playful tone to his teasing rather than a barbed or sarcastic one that Harold might have gotten from previous dates delivering the same line. 

“As a matter of fact, Ms. Moresco was wishing us luck on our date,” Harold answered with a timid smile. John grinned, tried to hide it behind his hand, then gave up and let Harold see his happiness. “I come to this particular cafe often, and she and the other waitstaff have been kind.” 

“Well, as long as the waitress approves, who am I to say anything?” John finished the last of his water and stood to offer Harold a hand. “Shall we?” 

Harold placed his fingers on John’s palm and stood, keeping his hand as they left the restaurant and started walking. 

“Are you comfortable holding my hand like this?” Harold asked after a block and a half. “You seem… nervous.” 

“Just getting used to the feeling,” John answered. “Never cared when I was with a woman, but now I’m —“ He paused, testing his impressions. “I’m aware that people might look or stare at us. Not sure what I think of that yet.” 

“A reasonable reaction,” Harold murmured to himself. “If it’s too much…” 

“No, it’s fine,” John responded. He sounded distracted. “I’ll tell you if it changes.” 

After another block, Harold stopped and tugged his hand free. “What’s going on, John? What are you thinking about so intensely that I can hear it through the silence?” 

John frowned slightly. “I’m not sure the middle of the street is a good place to talk about it,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Harold rolled his eyes. “Out with it. I’ll tell you if we need to go somewhere else.” 

“Well, I was thinking about something you said last week…” John started. Harold made a _please continue_ motion when he stopped. “You said you like big men who’ll move you around, manhandle you a bit…” He waited for a moment, but Harold encouraged him to continue again. “But how do you know that if it takes you a while to trust someone? I mean, what if I tossed you on my shoulders and dropped you into bed? How would that feel?” 

Harold tilted his head, thinking. Silently they moved out of the flow of traffic, finding the fence of a brownstone to lean against. 

“I’m asking because, uh, well, that kind of thing might feel… bad, you know? If you didn’t trust someone. And you said you’ve never really gotten far enough with a boyfriend to trust him with sex, so I’m assuming you’d not trust them for something like that. But I could be wrong,” he finished, hedging his bets. 

“How fascinating,” Harold commented. “Your mind works completely differently than mine.” 

“We _are_ different people,” John felt the need to point out. 

“Shall I clarify, then? I have never felt physically unsafe with a previous paramour, with the single exception of a man named Gabriel who took my lack of readiness to be ‘fucked into the mattress’ as a rejection of him personally rather than a request to get to know each other better first, and he was disinclined to respect my wishes until I explained _why_ I was not ready for such an act…” 

John’s eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you?” he demanded. 

“No,” Harold said firmly. “He left immediately. I never saw him again.” 

“Good.” 

“That being said, no one has tried to force me, and while most of them were disappointed or angry, or both if we stopped in the middle, as it were, they accepted that I wasn’t ready and took themselves away.” Harold glanced at the sidewalk for a moment before raising his head. “I realize that I’ve been very lucky,” Harold continued. 

“That’s good to know, but I’m not following how this fits in with what we were talking about.” 

“Do you watch pornography?” 

John’s mouth dropped open. 

Harold sighed to himself. _Too abrupt!_ the small voice in the back of his head shouted. _Inappropriate question for a second date! You did the same thing last week! Get it together or you won’t get a third!_ He took a breath and started again. 

“Perhaps I’ll try a different logic string. One can be aware of one’s preferences without having an actual experience, wouldn’t you say? Such as, one might enjoy watching certain activities in pornography and not others, true?” 

“Uh, sure,” John mumbled. His cheeks were slightly pink, as were the tips of his ears. 

“In my case, while the sight of a naked woman doesn’t disgust me as it does some gay men, it certainly doesn’t arouse me, either. Whereas watching men…” Harold trailed off for a moment. How to explain himself? 

“Watching men having sex excites me greatly. Over the years, I’ve developed preferences, such as particular actors I enjoy watching or particular activities, done in a certain order or with a certain focus. There are times when I imagine myself participating in those acts, and I believe that when I find the right partner, I will enjoy them greatly.” He tilted his head again. “Does that clarify things for you?” 

John seemed frozen in place, overwhelmed with thoughts and images. Harold pictured what he’d be thinking about: Harold, alone in the bedroom John had yet to see, watching porn and masturbating. Harold in his living room, watching porn with John at his feet, sucking his cock. John himself pushing a fully-clothed Harold against the wall, a forearm to his throat, cutting off his air supply, feeling his cock through the layers of fabric as it swelled in his tight grip. 

“I, uh…” 

“My hope,” Harold continued, pushing past his own discomfort so that he could be sure John understood. “Is that I find a partner with whom I can eventually explore those sorts of power dynamics. For him to be in control, physically, doing things to me as he wishes, moving me, touching me, perhaps even ordering me to do things, although that seems less exciting to contemplate, with the full understanding that _I,_ as the submissive, have the true power.” 

John simply stared. 

“Have I overwhelmed you with forthrightness?” Harold worried. “I have a habit of doing that. Nathan says that when I start on a topic that excites me, it takes an extreme effort to stop me from going overboard. Though, in retrospect, perhaps it was the nature of the content of what I’ve been saying that’s upset you? Or should we have left the sidewalk after all? I didn’t think we were talking loudly enough for it to be embarrassing, but —“ 

John blinked slowly a few times and closed his mouth. 

“John?” Harold asked, anxiety impinging on his tone. He put a hand on John’s arm. “Are you all right?” 

“ _Ireallywanttokissyounow_ ,” John blurted, the words slurring together. 

“Pardon me?” 

John swallowed and repeated himself at a regular pace. “I really want to kiss you now.” 

“Oh, well, certainly,” Harold replied, surprised and pleased that he hadn’t scared John off. He closed his eyes and leaned up on his toes. 

The kiss was far more involved than either of them expected, involving touch and taste and John’s arms around him and their noses bumping together and a catcall from a passerby. They broke apart, eyes now locked together. 

“For a very private person, Harold, I think you just shared more about your sexual preferences than I could tell you about my own, and I’ve had a lot of sex in my life.” 

“Surely you’re joking?” 

“No, I’ve never put mine into words,” John explained. “I wouldn’t know how to start.” 

“I think the place to start is with a question you most likely already know the answer to.” 

“What’s the question?” 

“Do you enjoy kissing me?” 

John laughed, loud and happy. He pulled Harold into a brief, tight hug and kissed his forehead. “Kissing you is one of the best things in my life right now,” he declared firmly. “Now how about we go watch the movie you’ve picked out and let all this heavy stuff go for a few hours?” 

Harold laughed shakily and motioned in the proper direction. It didn’t take long to get to the theater, and he’d budgeted more than enough time, so they weren’t late despite the intense conversation on the sidewalk. 

“What about popcorn?” John asked as Harold handed the tickets to an usher. He responded over his shoulder, accepting the ticket stubs. 

“About that. I don’t like popcorn very much.” 

“Well, neither do I,” John said in a silky voice, leaning over deliberately so his breath brushed Harold’s ear, making him shiver. “But if we’re going to go to the movies, I’d prefer if we had _some_ kind of snack.” 

“I do have a certain guilty fondness for Sour Patch Kids,” Harold admitted. 

“Sour Patch Kids coming up,” John said with a smile. “You get the seats, I’ll get the treats,” he added with a dazzling grin. 

“What a horrible rhyme.” Harold made sure to smile to take the barb out of his words. John didn’t seem offended if the crinkling beside his eyes and bigger smile was any indication. 

“I thought it wasn’t bad.” 

“Go! I’ll see you in a few minutes.” 

It was clear to Harold within twenty minutes of the start of the film that John wasn’t as engaged in it as he was. It could perhaps be that he’d chosen an experimental art house film from Italy. The reviews called it a ‘dark, sensual, smoldering romance,’ though it was turning out to be slightly more complicated and edgy than he would have picked, had he seen the movie before. John was giving it a valiant effort to understand, Harold had to admit. John didn’t complain about the subtitles, but he leaned over to ask what the character had said a few times. He didn’t seem to have Harold’s passing fluency with Italian. Not that Harold would have expected him to. 

Halfway through, John asked if he could put his arm around Harold, and he agreed readily, commenting that he was pleased John didn’t do the teenage fake-yawn that had been so popular when he was young. John rewarded him with a small nuzzle along his sideburn and a kiss at his ear, something that he could already tell would become a habit between them. Harold sighed in relaxation, popped another Sour Patch Kid in his mouth and returned his attention to the screen. 

Harold looked over sharply as John’s fingers started tapping against his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” John whispered. “Nerve damage.” 

Ten minutes later Harold knew for certain that he’d selected the wrong movie. John was watching him, not the screen. He turned in his seat to face John. 

“You don’t like it,” he stated. 

“Subtitles aren’t exactly my thing,” John admitted, pitching his voice low to keep from disturbing the other moviegoers. “I’m more of an action-movie kind of guy. Guns, fighting, explosions. I like superheroes, too, and all these movies based on comic books that’re coming out more and more.” 

Harold nodded. “You pick the next one, then. I’ll silently dissect the plot holes while you enjoy the fireworks and that way we can both be happy with the selection.” 

John chuckled. “Want to make out like teenagers?” he asked playfully. 

What could Harold do but agree? 

. 

. 

. 


	9. More Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold continue getting to know each other.

John met Grace for the first time on his third date with Harold. They arrived at Harold’s apartment after an action movie that met both of their standards to find Grace curled up on the sofa reading a book. A cute redhead with a ready smile, she was beautiful and vivacious and everything John would have looked for in a woman — if he weren’t trying to date Harold. She jumped to her feet to introduce herself to John, and even gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek he wasn’t expecting. 

“Perhaps I should have warned you that Grace can be affectionate with people she deems worthy,” Harold commented from his place by the coatrack. “But I wanted to see your expression.” 

John turned towards Harold. Grace was walking around him, inspecting his scarf and coat and hair. “Should I be worried about the third degree?” he asked. 

“There are some things Harold hasn’t shared that I want clarified,” Grace responded cheerfully. She circled him again once his coat was off. “For example, how have you stayed single so long?” 

They stayed up talking and drinking tea for several hours before John had to beg off, having an early morning ahead of him. After his run, he’d report to a job center for day labor. If he wasn’t picked up for a job by eight, he tended to go to the library to research other job possibilities for a few hours, then he’d go to an outdoor yoga or tai chi class in the park at lunchtime, then go back to the library after scarfing the peanut butter sandwich he’d brought from home. Either that or go to one of his many appointments — therapist, probation officer, doctors… The jobs or library kept him busy most of the day, and even if he hadn’t spent the whole day in the sun working or indoors painting walls or doing other maintenance, he was usually tired enough to sleep. If he wasn’t, he’d go for a second run. 

At the very least he was keeping in good shape, he mused. 

John volunteered to cook for their fourth date, bringing groceries to Harold’s apartment Tuesday evening after therapy. Grace was out at an art class and wouldn’t be home until late, Harold informed him. Technically, it was Harold’s turn to pay, but John had been insistent that he get the ingredients for a favorite recipe of his. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise by having Harold buy everything. Harold hadn’t protested much, declaring that he’d provide salad and dessert in return. And that the next _two_ dates were on _him_. 

John found himself grinning like a fool as he peeled carrots, knowing he had at least two more dates to look forward to. 

“Tell me something,” Harold asked as they settled on the couch after dinner. 

“Hmm?” 

“I know you said you’ve never officially been out until now, but what was your first experience with a man like?” 

“I was sixteen, Ray was seventeen,” John began, wondering if Harold would like the story. “We were out in the woods in the middle of the night with our girlfriends, a campfire, and a case of beer.” John shifted, raising a hand to move his fingers through Harold’s hair along the back of his head. Harold smiled in response and inched closer. 

“We were all drunk, so we dared the girls to kiss, thought it was the greatest thing. We egged them on for five whole minutes! They dared us to do it as retaliation, though we got away with a few quick ones instead of a full make-out session. An hour later the girls were passed out and he turned to me and asked if I wanted to exchange blowjobs. Neither of us had done it before, but we were drunk and horny and enthusiastic and had both seen it done in porn and had it done to us, so everything worked out well enough. Next day he acted like it never happened and refused to meet my eyes.” 

“How disappointing.” 

“Not really. I wouldn’t meet his, either, and I’d been so drunk I barely remembered it. A month later all four of us went out there again. It was a common thing to do back home. We got drunk, had sex with our girlfriends side-by-side and then had sex with each other once they were asleep. We had sex eight more times before he graduated and left town, always after the girls were asleep. To this day, I have no idea if they knew what was going on.” 

“Did you keep in touch?” 

John shook his head. “I saw him once two years later. He was married, with a baby on the way. We didn’t even say hello.” 

“That’s sad,” Harold commented. 

“I guess. I haven’t thought about him in more than ten years. What about you?” 

Harold paused, shifting even closer. His knee bumped against John’s. “Kiss me before I tell you,” he suggested, so John did. 

“It was six months after my father passed away.” Harold started talking in earnest once they were settled in Harold’s room, cuddled up comfortably on his bed. They’d taken off their shoes and belts and emptied their pockets to be more relaxed. Harold placed his glasses on the nightstand and rested his cheek against John’s chest. “I was a junior in college, still figuring out a path for my life, though I knew it would involve computers. I was in the library, in the chemistry section for some reason, though I no longer had chemistry as a class. I was crying because I’d just gotten a letter from the executor of my father’s estate that our farm had been sold and that I would have thirty days to remove my things.” 

John kissed the top of his head and squeezed him gently. 

“A young man approached me. I didn’t know his name, but I’d seen him around campus. He said he had a solution to my problem, that is, he knew what would make me feel better and stop crying. He gave me a hand job. I was so startled that I went along with it, and in retrospect, it did feel rather good, however looking back on the incident I might not have chosen the university library as the venue for my first sexual experience of that nature.” 

“Somehow, I’m not surprised there were books around,” John commented, knowing how many books Harold had out in the apartment on shelves and suspecting how many he hid in his closet and under the bed before their dates. “But I think it was a little tasteless of him when you were so upset like that.” 

“Yes, well, he followed up by stating that since my face was already wet I shouldn’t mind giving him a blowjob in exchange. I got to my feet and ran while he was undoing his jeans.” 

“Shit. Not just tastless, crass.” 

“Completely inappropriate,” Harold agreed. “But my mind had been awoken to the possibility of men as sexual partners, and I became fixated on the idea. It made so much more sense to me than being with a woman. I started dreaming of it. With only the one experience and my own body as references, I doubt I could have come up with anything specific, so the dreams were vague at first. There were, and are, far more sources of images of naked women than men, after all.” 

“I don’t know about that,” John replied. 

“It doesn’t matter. At the time I had more trouble finding gay pornography than straight.” Harold trailed his hand up John’s body, caressing his clothed chest as he lay there. “I enjoyed the dreams.” 

“You never dreamt about girls?” 

“No, not even when I’d been actively doing it,” Harold admitted. “I read everything I could find about being gay, about gay sex, about gay men in literature. Not that there was much back then, of course, or that it was easy to find, and even many medical texts considered it unnatural or a mental illness, but I didn’t let myself be deterred. If I, myself, as well as that young man, harbored these feelings, it was a statistical probability that more young men would have them. 

“The likelihood of finding someone willing to participate in those activities with me seemed more than adequate.” 

“You sound like you were doing a research project.” 

“Perhaps I was,” Harold mused. “It was an entirely new concept for me to consider.” 

“Yeah, me, too, but I just jumped in and learned how to figure out who was open to it. It felt good, so I kept doing it, same as with girls and women.” 

“You are significantly more confident in physical matters than I,” Harold said. He gave a small sigh. “I was frightened by the idea of anal sex,” he admitted softly. “Considering the type of men I was drawn to, I worried that they would not take enough time on the preparations, or hurt me, or that my inexperience would put them off… 

“I have since come to realize, of course, how wrong and damaging those stereotypes are and that I’ve perhaps missed out on potentially suitable partners for that reason,” Harold rushed to say when he felt John tensing. “People can be so… confusing… sometimes,” he added. “And masculinity can be such a fragile thing.” 

John rubbed his face with his free hand. “You’ve got that right,” he agreed. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen guys doing to maintain their image as extremely masculine or the most straight.” He groaned softly. “The army is full of guys who feel they have to prove themselves. And you know what? It doesn’t matter! The enemy doesn’t care if you like dick or pussy or both. They’re still going to be shooting at you.” He made a sound of disgust. 

“If I may continue?” Harold asked. John nodded, feeling slightly chastised. 

“At the time I was living in off-campus housing with my friends Nathan and Arthur, as well as another young man named Scott. Nathan walked in on me looking at pornography one afternoon, though not, fortunately, masturbating to it. He slapped me on the back, informed me that he’d known all along that I was a queer, and congratulated me on realizing it. Arthur arrived as we were debating the merits of blondes versus brunettes, and added his opinion that it was body type, rather than hair color, that was perhaps more important in selecting a favorite porn star or potential partner. That and penis size.” 

Harold raised his head. “Mind you, neither Nathan nor Arthur are gay or even bisexual,” he explained. “They were merely showing their support of me and that they wouldn’t ostracize me for my sexual orientation.” 

“They sound like enlightened men for the time,” John replied. “Though I think it has more to do with how you use your penis than what size it is.” 

“I’ll refrain from inferring anything about _you_ from that statement,” Harold teased, pressing his thigh higher against John’s crotch briefly before returning it to its former place. Neither of them were aroused, which was fine with John. He was enjoying the conversation, the frankness, even if they didn’t always see eye-to-eye. He liked getting to know Harold and how he thought and what had happened in his life. 

_God_ , he thought, _has it moved from a crush to an infatuation so quickly? I’m not even upset he tried to tease me about the size of my dick…_

“They most certainly are enlightened men,” Harold agreed. “They formed ICT, you know, the software company.” 

“Wait, your friends are Nathan _Ingram_ and Arthur _Claypool_?” John demanded, recognizing the reference immediately. 

“Why, yes. Didn’t I mention that? My office job is with them in the ICT building downtown. Most of what I do is run of the mill coding, but Arthur has a dream of creating an artificial intelligence, and I’ve helped him on occasion. It’s nowhere near finished, since he and Nathan picked up a huge government contract after 9/11 that they’re still focusing most of their personal energy on, but every so often I go into the office and spend a weekend immersed in code and tinker with Arthur’s project. The technology to make a true AI is years away, but I get a lot of satisfaction helping him with his dream.” 

“Every time I think I have a handle on some aspect of your life, you go and upend things,” John muttered. “Tell me some more about your first gay experiences.” 

“Where was I? Oh, yes. My other roommate, Scott, rather than being merely supportive of me, became obsessed. He wanted to discuss gay sex with me at every opportunity. He wanted to look at pornography with me. He wanted to go to clubs with me. Mind you, I wasn’t interested in clubs, of course, and the idea of anonymous sex with strangers, as well as the AIDS virus known only as a killer of gay men, well, it made me rather less than enthusiastic.” 

“I’m not getting a good feeling about this,” John said. 

“Nothing untoward happened,” Harold reassured him. “We ended up experimenting a little, that’s it. Nathan and Arthur didn’t approve, and I figured out soon enough that Scott and I weren’t suited to each other.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Basically. He moved out at the end of the semester and we got another roommate for our senior year. I’ve never actively hidden my sexuality, though being single and generally celibate most of my life has precluded the need for revelation for the most part.” 

“Celibate, huh?” 

“I’m not sure what other word to use.” 

“I’m not judging. I’ve just never heard it used outside monks and priests.” 

Harold laughed gently. “I’ve fantasized about being intimate with you,” he whispered, his eyes locked on John’s. The mood shifted abruptly into the sensual. “Being naked with you. The touch of your large hands on my skin.” 

John felt his entire face crinkle as he smiled widely. “You like my hands,” he commented, brushing Harold’s cheek with his fingertips. “You’ve always liked my hands.” 

Harold turned his head and opened his mouth, sucking in John’s index finger. John used his free hand to ruck up Harold’s shirt so he could press his entire hand to Harold’s back. Harold closed his eyes, smiling around John’s finger. He lapped at the tip. 

John pulled his finger free and tugged Harold down to kiss him. He rutted up against Harold, feeling the beginnings of arousal. Harold made a pleased sound and shifted so that he slotted his hips to John’s in that perfect way so that their dicks lined up. John grabbed his ass in both hands, squeezing. Harold shuddered on top of him, breaking away from the kissing to breathe out. 

John rewarded him with a dazzling smile and rolled them over to press his body weight onto Harold. 

“Yes,” Harold hissed, clutching John’s waist. John rolled his hips, feeling the delicious drag of cock against cock, even through their clothes. He bent to nibble at Harold’s neck. “No marks, please,” Harold said, even as he stretched out to offer more of his throat to John. 

“We might have been making out like teenagers at the movies,” John murmured in response. “But you’ve gotta trust that I know how to keep from giving you a hickey. I’m 36 years old!” 

“That young?” Harold blurted. 

John’s head jerked up. “Why? How old are you?” 

“Forty-five,” Harold answered primly. 

John shook his head. “Whatever. You want another kiss, old man?” His voice was light and his eyes sparkled with mirth. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Harold muttered. “Let me be on top. I want your hands on my ass again.” 

“You’re pretty demanding for someone who calls himself a submissive,” John declared as they switched places. “Not that I mind,” he added quickly. “I’ve never done that kind of thing, so maybe I’m just making a stupid assumption.” 

“I don’t think we’re at the stage where assigning each other such roles makes sense,” Harold said, his voice an odd combination of tones John couldn’t interpret. 

“No, that’s true, but —“ 

“John, I’m trying to tease you. I’m not sure if I’d go so far as to call myself a submissive in the traditional sense. I’m probably not, as I usually feel the need to be in control of every situation as much as possible. But as I said the other day, I’m interested in exploring the power dynamics in a sexual setting.” 

John groaned. “God, you use all these _words_!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes heavenward. Harold smiled, running a hand down John’s cheek. 

“Would you rather we kissed some more?’ 

“Yes, please!” 

Harold laughed delightedly and kissed him. 

John had just slipped his hands down the back of Harold’s jeans to cup his ass through just his underwear, when there was a swift knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. 

“I’m home, Harold,” Grace declared as she entered, her voice and manner full of energy and excitement. “Now tell me all the glorious details of your date!” There was an awkward moment as she took in the scene in front of her. “Oh, God, I’m sorry!” she cried out, rushing from the room. The door slammed closed. 

“At least we still had our pants on,” John muttered. Harold simply lowered his forehead to John’s chest with a small thump and a groan of annoyance. 

. 

. 

. 


	10. Therapeutic Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Iris have another therapy session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those scenes I've been planning for a while. Like, it was one of the first I wrote after their meeting... Hope you enjoy!

“Billionaires,” John declared as he threw himself into the chair in Iris’ office at the start of his session. “Fucking billionaires,” he added for emphasis. 

“You’re going to have to give me some context to work with if you want a response,” Iris replied. 

“I have to get a job,” John continued. “A real job.” 

“I’m still a little lost,” she said, already scribbling notes. 

John snorted in annoyance. “Harold is friends with Nathan Ingram and Arthur Claypool of ICT,” he explained. “How am I supposed to measure up as a potential boyfriend if he has _billionaires_ as friends?” 

“Ah.” 

“That’s it? Ah?” 

“I’m not sure what else you want me to say.” 

John rolled his eyes and leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee and his arms across his chest. “I don’t know if I can afford to date him.” He paused. “It’s not like I can get a good job,” he added petulantly. “Not with my record.” 

“You have a clean service record,” Iris protested. “Commendations, promotions, a medal! Your time in prison —“ 

“Will outweigh all the rest!” he interrupted. “I can’t even do what I’m good at anymore,” he grumbled. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t hold a gun,” he explained. “All I’m good at is following orders and shooting things. But if I can’t hold a gun, how am I supposed to protect people? What good am I if I can’t protect people?” 

“You’re good at a lot of —“ 

“I couldn’t protect my men,” he barked, angry. “My men _died_ because —“ 

“You carried three men out on your back with an arm that was bleeding and numb from shrapnel,” she said. “You —“ 

“And what the fuck good does it do me?” he snarled, on his feet, spitting the words at her. “I have nothing to do! No job! No family! No education! No purpose! No _life!_ ” He took a deep breath and sat down again, rubbing his face with his hands. “He gave me a list, you know, of places we could go,” he said in a calmer voice. “For our first date. $5 falafel all the way up to $300 steak,” he continued. “His _friends_ give the goddamned _$300 steak_ to their goddamned _chihuahuas_! How the fuck am I ever going to measure up?” he demanded, his voice full of despair. 

“And think about it,” he continued, not giving her a chance to respond. “If he’s friends with _them_ … he’s got to have money of his own. Why’s he living in a two-bedroom with a roommate? Are those suits of his really expensive? Does he earn more in a day than I get in a month?” 

“I can guarantee you that Harold’s not dating you for your money,” she said gently. 

“Well, that’s _great_ ,” he muttered sarcastically. “Why’s he dating me, then? My looks?” He rubbed his left arm, feeling it tingle and itch. “I’m covered in scars. Why would he even want to look at me? Is it my dick? My skills in bed? We’ve barely kissed! Oh, wait, it’s got to be my sparkling personality!” he declared, his voice dripping with self-loathing. 

“John, you seem extremely agitated this afternoon,” Iris commented. “I’m wondering what —“ 

“Agitated?” he demanded, on his feet again. “ _Agitated_? You better fucking believe I’m _agitated!_ ” 

“Why don’t you sit down and we can practice some of the breathing exercises we’ve worked on before?” she suggested. 

“Fuck your breathing exercises!” 

“John…” 

“No! Fuck your goddamned breathing exercises! Fuck your stupid questions and long, soulful silences! You’re not fucking helping me!” he yelled. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back on my feet when I can’t _do_ anything?” 

Iris pressed her lips together into a thin line and didn’t answer. 

“My hand keeps going numb,” John declared. “It twitches and I can’t control it. I’m doing almost everything with my right hand the past few weeks, and I hate it! Fuck being ambidextrous, sometimes I just want to use my goddamned dominant hand! And the doctors just say I have to get used to it. Get used to it? What the fuck kind of advice is that?” 

“Would you have them give you false hope?” she asked softly. 

“You know what? Fuck you!” he snarled. “You’re not helping and I can’t keep wasting my time on all this _bullshit!_ ” He waved an arm, deliberately sending a tissue box flying across the room. “I’m leaving,” he declared. He yanked the door open. 

Iris maintained her calm expression and didn’t move to stop him. He turned back. 

“And why aren’t you _scared_ of me?” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I could snap your neck with my bare hands!” 

Iris tilted her head and raised a single eyebrow as if to say, _Are you done yet?_

John’s anger drained away in an instant, replaced by embarrassment and shame. How could he have yelled at her like that? How could he have threatened her? How — 

“Please close the door and sit down,” Iris suggested. She set aside her paper and pen, uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting both elbows on her knees. 

Reluctantly, John did as she asked. 

“Are you going to fire me now?” he asked after a full minute of silence. 

“For being angry? Of course not! In fact, I’d say today was a bit of a breakthrough.” 

He frowned, not understanding. 

“We’ve been seeing each other over three months by now, and this is the first time you’ve expressed true anger in here. That, alone, is a breakthrough. But you were also ready to leave, and yet you didn’t. Why?” 

“Because, uh…” He thought for a moment and came up blank. “I don’t know.” 

“Ok, how about this? Why did you want me to be scared of you?” 

“You _should_ be scared of me. Everyone else is. I have a temper. I get angry.” 

“Everyone gets angry sometimes,” she said. “Everyone has a temper. What’s so scary about yours?” 

“I could hit you. Hurt you. Kill you.” 

“Did you do any of those things?” 

“No, but —“ 

“Have you ever hit someone when you were angry with them?” 

“Bar fight, when I was nineteen that got me to join up in the first place,” he muttered. “And that prick of an ex-boss.” 

“Have you ever hit a friend? Or a lover?” 

“No.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

“I couldn’t hurt someone I care about. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, her hand on her chin. 

“I’ve killed,” he reported. “I’ve killed in battle, in war, when it was kill or be killed. I know what it’s like, what I lost.” 

“What you lost?” she repeated. 

“I lost a part of myself,” he explained. “Not everything, but something. The best part of myself, maybe. I don’t even want to think about what I’d lose if I killed as a civilian. I’d probably lose the rest of myself.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I don’t want to be a killer. I don’t want blood on my hands.” He pursed his lips and knitted his eyebrows. “At least not more than is already there.” 

They contemplated that thought for a moment, and John was glad she didn’t try to fill the silence or offer recycled platitudes. She’d never killed. How would she understand? Empathize, sure, but understand it? Live and breathe the feeling of having taken a life, no matter how much his own was in peril at the time? He remembered the dead eyes of the first kid he’d killed. He’d been a kid himself, just twenty-one, going for a whiz in the woods in the middle of the night. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the sound of the enemy’s gun jamming, remembering tackling him, thrashing on the ground. He remembered snapping the man’s neck, and the nausea that followed, and the commendation from his superiors for keeping the enemy’s grenades from killing them all that came alongside a warning about going off on one’s own, even just to take a leak. 

He felt the need to swallow and found that his throat was dry. 

“How does your arm feel?” Iris asked, startling him with the random question. He realized he’d been rubbing it constantly since he sat down. 

“Itchy. Like there are bugs crawling around under my skin.” 

“That’s anxiety,” she informed him. “That’s your body telling you that you’re upset about something.” 

“Fucked up message, if you ask me,” he grumbled, trying not to scratch. “I _know_ I’m upset. I don’t need the reminder.” 

“Let’s use the last five minutes to talk about some coping skills to help you calm down so that feeling will go away,” she said. “Some of them, like the deep breathing, we can do together, here, but some others you’ll have to do on your own.” 

“Such as?” 

Iris picked up her paper and pen. 

__._ _

__._ _

__._ _


	11. A look into Harold's mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we get a chapter from Harold's point of view. Bonus: Grace the Best Friend.

Harold filled the watering can quickly, his mind on the path he’d take through the floor and trying to decide if he had time to water all the plants before John’s therapy session ended or if he’d have to interrupt himself to be able to say hello. It was only a few days since they saw each other last, but he was feeling anxious. 

Harold liked John. He liked him more than he’d liked anyone else before, and it scared him as much as it excited him. He knew how many of his physical preferences for a boyfriend John seemed to posses, and he knew that John’s voice and soulful eyes would be the undoing of him, if _(when)_ he let him into his heart. 

They weren’t alike. In fact, they were so dissimilar that it was hard for him to believe at times how well they connected. Grace said it was a spiritual bond, that they were meant to meet and be together, and while Harold put a lot of trust in his best friend, there were times when she was far too free-thinking and emotional for his own logical mind to handle. Still, he accepted and bathed in Grace’s optimism for their relationship. He wanted it to work. 

Ever since he was a child, Harold had been a loner. Growing up with a single (male) parent in a small town and being far more intelligent than all of his peers all but guaranteed it, and his preference for books over sports sealed the deal, let alone his sexuality. He wondered sometimes if his father would have accepted him, had he lived to learn of Harold’s self-discovery in that respect. He hoped he would have. 

Thomas Heron had been a good man. A gentle, loving man. He’d come back from war and dedicated himself to teaching, then to his young wife and their child, and then to the child when she passed so suddenly. He’d learned about birds to help soothe Harold when he had trouble sleeping as a baby, and he’d bestowed his love of education to his son. Harold grew up a loner, without many friends, but he knew love, and devotion, and strength. 

He already felt strength and devotion from John. Would love come next? 

Only a month into the relationship, though… 

Harold felt comfortable with John in a way he’d never known since his father. With Nathan and Arther there was a certain familiarity, a certain camaraderie, created at MIT and nurtured over the years. He hadn’t connected with either of them as quickly as he had with John. Even Grace, his best friend in all the world, with whom he connected instantly, hadn’t felt as close as quickly as he did with John. 

He understood John, and he fancied that John understood and accepted him. John certainly hadn’t been put off by Harold’s virginity, something no other man had accepted without ridicule since he turned twenty, even in the closeted gay community. John also didn’t seem put off by Harold’s anxiety, or his penchant for rambling, or his need to have a book with him at all times, or his overzealous work hours. 

He smiled, turning off the water. If he hurried, he’d be able to meet John after his session and walk him to the elevator as usual. If he was lucky, John would be amenable to waiting while he finished the watering and getting tea or coffee and spending some more time together afterwards. 

Harold wasn’t a man who liked spontaneity, and surprises often overwhelmed him and brought on panic attacks, but he wanted to try to be more ‘in tune’ with himself. John was working on his own issues of trauma and anger, so it was only fair that Harold work on his anxiety and fear. 

Step one: Spend time with John when they didn’t have a date planned. They’d done it once, at John’s initiative, when he’d found himself downtown with a job that finished earlier than expected and he called Harold for a walk in the park. Now it was Harold’s turn to try. 

Harold exited the bathroom and ran smack into someone rushing down the hall. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there,” he said, clutching the watering can to his chest to keep it from spilling on the other person, though his own shirt was now liberally coated with the organic plant food additive Grace had researched for him that he’d just mixed into the water. He felt hands grab his elbows as he overbalanced. 

“Hey, Harold, careful there. Don’t fall,” John said, his hands gentling as Harold kept his footing and looked up to meet John’s eyes. Harold smiled. 

“John! I was hoping I’d run into you! Not so literally, of course, I certainly wouldn’t want to —“ 

“It’s ok, Harold,” John murmured. “I wasn’t paying attention either.” 

They stood silently for a moment. John dropped his hands. He shifted on his feet. 

“I just have the watering to do,” Harold blurted, trying to rush his explanation so John would know what he was thinking and agree. “If you’re willing to wait a few minutes, perhaps we could —“ 

“I’m actually in a really bad mood today,” John interrupted bluntly. “I wouldn’t be good company.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But maybe —“ 

“Some other time,” John said, cutting him off again. “I’ll text you to confirm about Friday, ok?” He patted Harold’s shoulder and left, walking away quickly and without a backwards glance. 

Harold watched him go with a feeling of dread in his stomach. He’d pushed too hard. He’d wanted too much. Clearly, he didn’t understand John well enough yet. He couldn’t read his moods. If John was willing to be that rude, just to get away from him… 

He sighed and shuffled off to water the plants, his wet shirt adding to his embarrassment and misery. 

“What’s wrong?” Grace demanded as soon as Harold arrived at home. 

He sighed and set down the empty watering can so he could take off his coat and go change his shirt. “Is it that obvious?” 

“You look like you watched someone kick a puppy,” she said, picking up the watering can and bringing it to the kitchen to put under the sink for him. “Did you miss seeing John?” she asked when he returned to the kitchen wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t in any kind of mood to be dressed formally, much as he loved the comfort of his suits. 

Harold frowned and sat on one of the chairs at the kitchen table while she bustled around making his favorite tea. 

“I saw him. Ran into him, in fact. He didn’t want to see me,” he finished, knowing his voice sounded dejected and sad. Probably because he felt that way. 

“What do you mean, didn’t want to see you?” 

“He practically ran away!” 

“That can’t be the whole story,” she protested, pulling a box of tea crackers from the cabinet. 

“He said he was in a bad mood and ran away.” 

She pursed her lips and set out the crackers. He picked up one and nibbled on a corner. 

“I mean, he _had_ just come from therapy, so it’s logical to assume he might have had a difficult session,” Harold continued. “I was just thinking today how difficult it must be to relive all the trauma of being in a war zone,” he added, picking up a second cracker. They were the anise flavored ones, his current favorite. Trust Grace to have stocked the pantry with them. “It can’t be pleasant thinking about that.” 

Grace set the tea in front of him and added milk and sugar to the table, then sat down with her own mug. 

“I tried asking him to wait until after my shift so we could spend time together,” he muttered into his mug. 

“You were trying to be spontaneous!” she exclaimed happily. “That’s great!” 

“He said no,” Harold pointed out. He finished doctoring his tea and took a cautious sip. “I suppose I could try again. He didn’t seem upset by the idea, more that the timing was off.” 

“There you have it,” she said, patting his hand. “Will you still see him Friday?” 

“I think so, yes. He mentioned it and said he’d text me.” 

“See? Even when he’s in a bad mood he still wants to see you!” she enthused. “He likes you!” 

“I certainly hope so,” Harold confided. “For I like him quite a bit, myself. Is it too soon to hope he’s the one I’ve been looking for?” 

“Oh, sweetie, I know you’re lonely, but don’t fall too quickly, if you can help it,” she said. “He seems really nice, but I’d get worried if he didn’t return your feelings because you wanted too much too soon.” 

“Because of my loneliness, you mean? Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s just that it’s been so long since anyone’s treated me half as well as he’s treating me.” 

“And that’s my point. Please don’t fall in love with him just because he’s not an asshole like the others.” 

Harold sighed and finished his tea. “I really _do_ enjoy kissing him,” he admitted. 

“That’s good. But that’s not everything. You’ve only been on a handful of dates. Who knows what he’ll be like if you’re still not ready after a few months?” 

“I know, I know. I just have a sense that it’ll work out.” 

“I hope so,” she said, patting his hand again. “I’ll be here, no matter what.” 

“You truly are the best of friends,” he declared, smiling at her. “Looking after my heart when I’m too enamored to do so myself.” 

“That’s what friends are for,” she replied, grinning back. 

. 

. 

. 


	12. At ICT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold goes to work and discusses important issues with Nathan and Arthur.

“Someone has a spring in his step,” a playful baritone commented behind Harold.Expecting the statement or something like it having noticed Nathan’s approach and mischievous expression in the reflection off the elevator door, Harold didn’t startle.Nathan stopped beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee in one hand.“Tell me you’ve met someone,” he added. 

Harold smiled.“I’ve met someone,” he repeated obligingly, his expression softening as he thought of John. 

He allowed himself a moment to remember the night before.Wednesday, and John had texted to apologize for his bad mood on Tuesday and did Harold want to come out for a quick drink?Harold said yes, and they met at a bar and each nursed a single beer long enough that the bartender became annoyed, so that Harold felt obligated to buy some food to placate him, which they then devoured as they debated the merits of British versus American comedy. 

John escorted him home as he did every time they got together, and kissed him goodnight on his stoop and declined the invite upstairs.He’d seemed excessively tired to Harold, and he explained that he’d spent the hours of 8:30am to 6:30pm digging up tree stumps in a rich old lady’s backyard and he was about to fall over.This was after his morning run, of course.Harold complained that he shouldn’t have pushed himself to come out, but John protested that he’d felt bad about snapping at Harold the day before and _wanted_ to see him, even if only for a few hours.They kissed again, long and deep, leaving Harold flushed and excited and in need of a cold shower. 

John hadn’t shaved that morning, and the scratch of his stubble against Harold’s cheek felt wonderfully decadent, even if it was because John had been too busy rather than letting it go for Harold’s benefit.Not that Harold would want John to have a full beard.He preferred men clean-shaven or with a day or two of growth, nothing more. 

It was John’s face, though, and he could do whatever he wanted, Harold told himself firmly. 

Harold and Nathan entered the elevator side-by-side and Nathan tapped his security card against the reader, allowing them access to the executive floors.He pressed the button for 42. 

“We’re going to see Arthur?” Harold asked, shifting his briefcase to the other hand to fish his phone out of his pocket.“Did I miss a message?” 

“He has something to talk to us about,” Nathan confirmed.“He called me so I’d make sure you made it, since you didn’t answer.Tell me about this mystery man.Was _he_ the one occupying your time last night?” 

“There’s not much to tell yet,” Harold hedged.“It’s barely been a month.” 

“For you, a month is just about all they get,” Nathan observed, not unkindly.“What’s his name?” 

“John,” Harold answered.“He’s retired form the army.” 

“Let me guess: Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, a little gray at the temples?” 

“How could you possibly know that?” Harold demanded.“Are you having me followed?” 

“We’ve been friends for over 30 years, Harold, I know your type.He’s probably muscled up, too, though you’ve been veering away from body-builders for a while now, so not _that_ buff.” 

Harold sighed.The elevator opened and they crossed the hall to go through a security checkpoint.“He’s very handsome.And not much gray.He’s 36, and seemed insulted when I noticed the few strands he has, though I told him it made him appear distinguished.” 

“A younger man this time,” Nathan commented, nodding approvingly.“Breaking the mold.I like it.” 

“He has a very gentle soul for a man born, raised and fledged within the military’s framework.His father was in the army before he died,” Harold explained.“He, himself, joined at nineteen.” 

“And retired before 40?Something happen?” 

“A minor disability which impinges on his ability to continue his career with the military but probably won’t impact his post-military career, once he finds it.” 

“So he’s drifting?” 

“At the moment, yes.” 

“Well, you clearly like him,” Nathan said as he held the door to Arthur’s office open for Harold with the hand not holding his coffee. 

“Are we talking about Harold’s new boyfriend?” Arthur asked absently, most of his focus still on his computers.He had three monitors set up on his desk, two keyboards, and papers strewn about the rest of the surface.Harold spotted three used coffee cups in the trash, indicating Arthur had been at work for quite a while.Probably never left last night, Harold mused, revising his opinion when he saw the coffee at Arthur’s elbow. 

“We’re not officially boyfriends yet,” Harold felt the need to explain.He set down his briefcase and began sorting the papers for his friend.“And how do _you_ know anything about it?” 

“Nathan and I were speculating.Your code’s gotten more lyrical than usual, and that always means a potential romance.” 

Harold stared at him, his mouth gaping open briefly.“Pardon me?” 

“Come now, Harold, you know I’m not as absent-minded as I seem,” Arthur replied.“I check your code, same as I do Nathan’s.With Samaritan’s development doing as well as it is and the government getting antsy for progress, I need to be extra careful with every update to its code.”He turned off his computers with a few clicks and then produced his phone from his pocket and dropped it in the lead-lined drawer in his desk.Harold and Nathan quickly added theirs. 

Arthur nodded to Nathan, who walked over to the wall and flipped a light switch, turning on the Faraday cage in the walls of the office to prevent wi-fi and cell signals from getting in or out.It was a recent addition, once they’d managed to get the necessary modifications to the windows installed.That and the reflective coating on the windows to prevent spies from seeing inside.And the sound-dampening field to prevent listening devices from picking up anything. 

“Is that why we’re meeting?The government being antsy?” Harold asked, putting the papers in the three piles Arthur preferred.He walked around the desk and sat. 

“Actually, we’re here to talk about Samaritan,” Arthur said as Nathan joined them sitting.“I’m worried about its higher functions,” he admitted.Harold nodded to himself and Nathan sighed. 

“We’re all worried about its higher functions,” he said for him and Harold.“It has no morals, no constraints.Once we let it go into the world, it could become a major force for good, but just as easily for bad.” 

“Now Nathan, please don’t oversimplify Arthur’s accomplishments into black and white,” Harold replied.“Samaritan is pure logic, without all the messy human emotions we love and hate so much.If we’re worried about its conclusions, we need to teach it better, train it to think more like us.” 

“At the moment it’s passive,” Arthur said.“It’s taking in information and providing the social security numbers of individuals about to be involved in major violent incidents that go beyond a particular threshold of number of injuries and deaths.But it’s noticing much more than just the terrorists.Women being beaten by their husbands.Doctors scamming the insurance agencies or their patients.Police officers taking bribes.Hell, it told me that one of our middle managers has been embezzling for the last three years!No one else noticed, but it told me right away when I asked for anomalies within the company.It has the opportunity to do a great deal of good, if we can find a way to let the proper authorities know ahead of time.” 

“Yes, except they can’t act _before_ a crime is committed unless it’s terrorism or a conspiracy plot,” Nathan blurted.“Shouldn’t we be able to save those women from their abusive husbands?Shouldn’t we be able to keep guns off the streets and out of schools?If it knows what’s going to happen, can’t it be programmed to find a way to stop it?Like by making sure the police are at the right place for an arms’ deal to watch it go down so they can arrest everyone?” 

“Now you’re making it sound like a combination of Orwell’s Big Brother and _Minority Report,_ ” Harold grumbled.“There has to be a middle ground of some kind.” 

“And that’s exactly what I want us focused on for the next few months,” Arthur declared.“Figure out how to teach it morals.Figure out what thresholds we want to have for violence, or for reporting potential violence.The government will want a report soon on when we’ll be able to ship it to them.I’ll stall as long as I can, but I fear that it’ll be within a year.We can’t hold them off forever, even with Nathan’s charm and Alicia’s willingness to delay her reports to Weeks.” 

“Do they know about its higher functions?” Harold asked.“Do they know it will be able to think and act and make its own money on the stock market to buy land and companies and soldiers, just by creating one-tenth of a penny out of digital air?”

“Now _you’re_ sounding paranoid,” Nathan said. 

“It will have those capabilities, Nathan,” Harold protested.“If Samaritan is a true artificial intelligence, what will stop it from deciding humanity isn’t worth keeping alive?”

“Us,” Arthur said into the silence after Harold’s frightened question.“We will teach it that humanity is worth saving.We will teach it that we’re just as important as it is.” 

Harold rubbed his forehead.“I’m so proud of you for creating it,” he said to Arthur.“But the idea of the government getting ahold of it, and especially of its higher functions, of being able to _direct_ it… the idea frightens me.The government is _not_ our friend.” 

“No, and because we know that, we can counteract it,” Arthur reassured him.“We’ll make it work, Harold.Right now Samaritan is confined, controlled.The fact that the computing power needed to keep its higher functions active more than a few minutes doesn’t exist yet helps with that, but it’ll only be a few years until it’s available.I’ve only allowed its higher functions activated when in a safe room.It won’t get out.” 

“We’ll need contingency plans,” Harold said.Nathan nodded agreement. 

“Of course,” Arthur continued.“But for right now, we’re working with the watered-down version, and that’s what the government knows about.We won’t let the rest out of the bag until we know we’ve taught it properly.” 

Harold sighed.“I’m more and more glad every day that I refused to meet with the government with you two.If they knew I was helping on this project they might remember to look into the ARPANET breach and then —” 

“We’d hire enough lawyers to get the charges dropped,” Nathan interrupted.“We have the money.” 

“I thought we made that disappear years ago,” Arthur commented.“You were seventeen.You made a mistake.There’s got to be a statute of limitations on that kind of thing.” 

“Not for treason,” Harold replied.“Which is what they’d charge me with when they figured out it was me,” he added, growing more upset. 

“They won’t,” Arthur said at the same time Nathan spoke. 

“We won’t let anything happen to you.We didn’t build ICT from the ground up to let them put you in jail.We’re a team.All for one, and one for all, remember?” 

Arthur chuckled.“I think I have that picture around here somewhere,” he said, rifling through one of his desk drawers.“Ah, here it is!”He brandished a black and white photo of the three of them outside Arthur’s father’s garage when they were nineteen and had just decided to live together and form a company when they graduated.Each young man brandished a slide-ruler like a sword, all three meeting in the middle like the Three Musketeers. 

“I appreciate the votes of confidence,” Harold muttered with a sad sigh.He took off his glasses and cleaned them quickly.“I don’t know what I’d have done all these years without you two.” 

“Harold, none of us would be here without the other two,” Arthur said, patting his arm.“We wouldn’t have Samaritan if you hadn’t encouraged me to propose it when the government came calling.Creating a true AI was a pipe dream without you.” 

“It certainly wouldn’t be as advanced as it is now,” Nathan agreed. 

“I can only imagine what John would think of this conversation,” he mumbled.“He thinks I’m a simple programmer, not a computer genius.And certainly not a traitor…”

“You own a third of ICT,” Nathan blurted.“There’s no way you’re a ‘simple programmer!’And you’re not a traitor!” he added vehemently.“You made a mistake, and you’ve been working to help the country and society ever since.Don’t let your guilt make you think otherwise.” 

Harold frowned as he always did when this topic came up, but he decided against the usual battle of wills that emerged.“I might have downplayed my stake in the company,” Harold said instead.“I’m not making the mistake of telling someone I’m interested in about my financial holdings again.I want him to like me for _me_ , not for my money.” 

“Yeah,” Nathan muttered.“I know all about that.Olivia’s ready for a divorce, you know.She’s not getting half, the prenup will stand in court, but she’s leaving me with much more than she came with.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harold replied, patting Nathan’s shoulder.Arthur murmured sympathetically from the other side of the desk.“But you understand my predicament, don’t you?John probably thinks that I live with Grace to be able to afford rent.I can’t very well tell him I own the entire building and choose tenants based on algorithms for compatibility with us!” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.But be prepared for him to be shocked and upset when he finds out.”Nathan paused and glanced at Arthur. 

“You never know,” Arthur commented.“Diane was pleasantly surprised and we’ve been married 24 years now.” 

“Diane is a saint,” Nathan declared.“Who knows about this John fellow?” 

Harold shook his head sadly.“Don’t let your pessimism rub off on me.I’ve finally met someone who I think could make me happy.” 

“You say that every time,” Nathan protested.“And they’re never willing to wait long enough for you to trust them.” 

“But I mean it this time!He’s — he’s — he’s a gentleman,” he decided.“He hasn’t tried to push me into anything at all.”Harold looked down at his hands in his lap, feeling a blush on his cheeks.“He called me brave for telling him about my — me being — you know,” he whispered. 

“You _told_ him?” 

“I’d been disappointed so many times in the past,” Harold explained.“And he’d confided something to me earlier, something potentially relationship-ending if not explained properly, so I thought it might be worth the risk.” 

“He didn’t laugh like that asshole Gabe?” 

“He called me brave,” Harold repeated.“He didn’t want to assume that he’d be the one, either.We’ve been on five dates, and he expressed a little frustration once, but said it was more to do with being frustrated at his body for wanting things before I was ready.He’s had no problem stopping when I’ve gotten too nervous or overwhelmed.” 

“He sounds like someone to keep around a little longer,” Arthur said, sitting back in his chair.“Enough of Nathan and his fatalism.I doubt your affairs helped your marriage,” he added. 

Nathan glowered at him but didn’t protest.They’d all known each other a long time.They knew Nathan’s promiscuity and Harold’s anxiety and Arthur’s attention deficit disorder. 

“Bring John by the house,” Arthur added to Harold.“I’m sure Diane would love to meet him.”He glanced at Nathan.“You, too, of course.Bring Will, since Olivia won’t be available.” 

Nathan rolled his eyes.“Don’t worry, I won’t bring my girlfriend,” he said uncharitably.“I know better than that.Diane would kill me!” 

They all laughed. 

“Seriously, Harold, if you like this guy, we’d like to meet him,” Arthur said as he crossed the room to turn off the Faraday cage. 

.

.

.


	13. John's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After talking with Nathan and Arthur about John, Harold's curiosity is piqued and he wants to see John's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for language, anger and self-loathing.

“I’d like to see your place,” Harold said as they hailed a cab after dinner.

John shrugged.“My place isn’t much.” 

“I’d still like to see it,” Harold persisted. 

“It’s a grubby pay-as-you-stay motel,” John grumbled, embarrassed.“There’s nothing to see.” 

“I’d like to see where my boyfriend sleeps at night,” Harold declared firmly. 

“Boyfriend?” John whispered to himself, half-disbelieving, half-overjoyed at the new word to describe their relationship.They’d been seeing each other for a little over a month and hadn’t slept together yet — not even blowjobs or handjobs.They kissed.They made out.They fondled each other through clothing, sometimes, but nothing more intense than that.No orgasms between them, though John had quite a few by himself and knew by Harold’s own admission that Harold was probably indulging, too. 

John hadn’t felt the lack of sex until that very moment when it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Harold simply wanted time to be alone together without the worry that Grace could come home and interrupt them like she had the other day.It had ruined any potential for sex that night, and though he hadn’t been _upset_ , per se, he’d been frustrated and so had Harold.He gave his address to the cabbie. 

As they approached his building, John began to feel jittery.He didn’t know his neighbors, and he was relatively sure that one of the women down the hall brought her johns home on a regular basis.What would Harold think?Would he start judging John because of where he slept? 

_Shit_.What if his neighbors thought Harold was his john?Harold was obviously much better dressed than he was.He wore a three-piece suit complete with a _pocket square_ , for God’s sake.Fuck, he couldn’t risk that kind of rumor getting back to his probation officer.Who he dated was none of the man’s business, but if someone reported that John was _hustling_ when the PO came for a visit…

He shut his eyes and tried the deep breathing exercise Iris taught him.Harold wasn’t a john.Harold was his (maybe?) boyfriend.No matter what rumors got back to his PO, he’d correct them. 

As long as the man believed him. 

He’d been doing everything he was supposed to do: Staying clean, working, keeping out of trouble… He did his community service hours without complaint and went to the meetings his PO required.He went to therapy _every_ goddamned _week_!

Harold wrinkled his nose at the building and the trash that never got fully cleaned up from around the edges.He frowned at the stained wallpaper and carpet in the hallway.He raised a skeptical eyebrow at John’s mini-fridge and hotplate. 

“You don’t even have your own bathroom?” Harold exclaimed at last, breaking John out of his anxious spiral into despair. 

John rubbed his face and didn’t answer, simply glad he was still in the habit of keeping everything in its place and not on the floor.He’d even made the bed that morning. 

“This is unacceptable!” 

“It’s not that bad,” John said defensively.“I’ve been sharing latrines for 15 years, and I haven’t had my own bedroom since I was nineteen, so this is better than anywhere else I’ve slept lately.” 

“I can’t believe you _live_ here,” Harold continued, examining the room more closely. 

The furniture was shabby and came with the room.John had peanut butter, jelly and bread beside canned food stacked on the small desk next to his bathroom kit, French press and single set of dishes/silverware.The dresser held only undershirts, socks and underwear, and one drawer was broken, so he couldn’t use it — his jogging clothes were piled on the desk chair, next to the bin he used for laundry.His two pairs of work boots and one pair of running shoes were neatly arranged on the floor of the closet where his jeans, work shirts and three dress shirts, as well as his one other sport jacket and the dress uniform he kept for special occasions hung.He was already wearing his only suit, tie and good shoes — and he knew Harold noticed that he only had the one suit… 

John felt his arm itching.From talking with Iris he knew it was anxiety, rather than bugs, that made him feel so jumpy, but knowing didn’t help.He’d been crawled on by bugs when overseas, and the sensation was so similar he couldn’t distinguish the difference yet.He sat on his tiny twin bed — that was too short for him but whatever, it was a place to sleep. 

“There’s no light, no air,” Harold continued, motioning at the single window which faced an unattractive brick wall of the neighboring building. 

“Harold, can you please —“

“I don’t like thinking of you staying here,” Harold continued, speaking over him.“There’s no way it can be healthy.Or safe.” 

“It’s cheap.I’m saving up so I can get a place of my own,” John explained, feeling his patience thinning, his insecurities deepening.He bit his tongue on the expletives that wanted to come out — _rich, out of touch asshole_ , _prissy motherfucker, faggot_.Harold was none of those things, nor would calling him them do anything except destroy their relationship.He didn’t even believe that shit.Goddamned homophobia — both his own internalized homophobia and the externalized kind, learned from a society that hated and feared gay men and anal sex. 

And he wasn’t even gay!Fucking self-defeating bi-erasure! 

John swallowed everything and tried to answer in a measured tone.“You know I don’t have much.It’s good enough for now.” 

“You can’t actually _like_ living here?” 

John’s temper blew.He jumped to his feet, stalked to the door and threw it open so hard the knob banged against the far wall.“Stop judging me, goddamn it!You don’t like it?Get out!I didn’t want to bring you here in the first place!” 

Harold stood in the center of the small room looking devastated, his eyes wide and scared. 

“I’m _trying_ to get back on my feet,” John continued in the same loud, angry voice.“You honestly think I could like this place?Go fuck yourself!” 

“I — I’m — I’m sorry, John,” Harold whispered, scrunching himself back against the far wall.“I just — I wanted to — I’m sorry.” 

John covered his eyes with his hand.“No, I’m sorry.I shouldn’t have yelled —“

He moved away from the door, giving Harold a clear path to leave if he wanted to. 

“What just happened?” Harold wondered, sliding around the bed to shut the door for them, obviously not wanting to go just yet.He stepped up to John and hesitantly held out a hand.John took it gratefully and kissed his knuckles.After a few moments he sighed and sat on the bed again.Harold joined him, close, but not touching him. 

“I’m sorry.I freaked out.It — It’s part of why I’m at the VA.Getting control of my anger, you know.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“I’m sorry,” John said again. 

“Maybe I should go,” Harold suggested sadly.“It seems I’ve upset you.” 

“Ok.I’ll see you around, I guess,” John muttered dejectedly, lowering his head.Harold startled him by reaching out to touch his face and bring his head up again. 

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Harold declared, his thumb stroking John’s cheek.“I just need some space.Some time.I suspect you do, as well.” 

John nodded, not believing it for a second.Harold was gone.Harold wouldn’t be coming back, no matter the pretty words or caresses he used to keep up John’s hope.No one would want a relationship with an angry, shit-for-brains asshole like him — calling Harold a faggot, even just in his head, was totally uncalled for and inappropriate.He knew better than that! 

Harold would leave him, no matter what he said.Harold would walk away and they’d never see each other again.Harold would change his volunteer days so he wouldn’t have to run into John at the VA and he’d move away from his apartment and he’d disappear.He’d change his phone number, his email.Hell, he could change his job, for all John would know. 

And it’d all be John’s fault.Harold would become a sad, depressed recluse because John couldn’t hold his temper and destroyed Harold’s limited trust in men and dating and he’d go to his grave worse off than he’d ever been. 

John was toxic.That’s all there was to say about it.He destroyed relationships.He destroyed people.Look at his relationship with Jesse!It was practically a lesson in how to fuck up at every opportunity, and now he was subjecting Harold to the same bullshit. 

He’d never get a hold on his anger at this rate. 

He’d never live up to whatever crazy standards Harold had for him. 

Hell, he was lucky he’d had as long as he did. 

.

.

.


	14. Anger Management?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has more adventures in anger management.

“God _fucking_ damnit!” John yelled, kicking the mostly-empty paint can as hard as he could.It flew halfway across the street, sending light blue paint splattering on the sidewalk and grass and pavement.A huge SUV screeched to a stop.The driver rolled down his window and gave John the finger, screaming obscenities.John made to go towards him, but his partner for the day, Jeff Blackwell, got between them and held John back. 

“Dude, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Jeff demanded.“Let it go!” 

The driver, seeing that John was contained, cursed one more time and sped off. 

“Chill, man, chill,” Jeff continued. 

John roughly pushed him away and went to gather the pieces of his phone from the street.Already covered in blue because it’d slipped out of his hand into the paint, it was now broken beyond repair.John continued cursing to himself as he snatched up the bucket and stalked back to the job site — painting some rich snob’s house. 

Why was it always the rich assholes who hired ex-cons to do menial labor?Was it some kind of fucked-up power trip?Was it so they could accuse them of stealing?Get them arrested again?

“That better not have been your PO calling,” Jeff declared. 

John let out a huge breath and sat on the stoop, cradling the bits of his phone in his paint-covered hands.“No,” he grumbled.“Someone I was seeing.” 

“Oh.”Jeff paused, looking around.He dumped out his lunchbag and offered the brown paper sack to John.“Here.Maybe you can save the SIM card, or something.” 

“It’s not worth it,” John replied, running his fingers through his hair — and cursing again at the mess he made — he’d need to buy more shampoo to get all the paint out — more money from his crazy-tight budget he couldn’t afford to lose.He accepted the bag, though, and put the phone inside, leaving it next to his own paltry sandwich. 

“You’re really in a bad mood today,” Jeff commented.They’d worked together twice before, and had chatted a little on the job.Just the basics — who they were, that they’d each done time, and that they wanted to move up in the world the right way. 

“Well, I’m pretty sure we broke up last night, and this was probably the real ‘Dear John’ call.” 

“Shit, that sucks.” 

“Yeah.” 

“She find out about your record?” 

“Nah, we’d already talked about that,” John answered, automatically censoring himself from revealing Harold’s gender.All he knew about Jeff was that he’d been inside for seven years for vehicular manslaughter and had almost killed another inmate, but stopped in time to avoid adding years to his sentence — he’d been provoked, and not killing the guy was all that saved his ass.He had no idea why he’d fought with the other prisoner and didn’t want to risk it being about some godforsaken ‘gay panic’ that John’s bisexuality could reawaken.“We were arguing about money.” 

“Fuck.That’s never a good sign.” 

“I told her I don’t make much,” John complained.“And she seemed ok with that at first, but she kept criticizing me when I brought her to my place.”He snorted to himself. 

“Like any of us can get a good job with our records,” Jeff agreed.“My girlfriend dumped me because I didn’t have any ‘prospects,’ whatever the fuck that means.What’re you gonna do?” 

“Get back to work, I guess.I’ve gotta pay rent this week, so I won’t have enough for a new phone for a while.” 

“You know, I could spot you a few…”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to get into borrowing money.Those kinds of things never end well.”He sighed and picked up his paintbrush.“Besides, who knows when we’ll be paired up again.” 

“Truer words were never spoken, my friend,” Jeff replied, patting John on the back before returning to his own section of the job. 

.

.

.


	15. Harold's Worried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold is worried that he hasn't heard from John since their fight.

Harold slumped in front of his laptop, his head cradled on his arms as he slept.The last time Grace found him like that at the kitchen table in the middle of the night she kissed his temple, folded his glasses out of the way and covered him with the horrid brown, orange and yellow afghan his mother had crocheted before she died. 

The last time she found him like that he’d been worried about Arthur, who’d needed heart surgery. 

Harold woke with a start when she touched his shoulder.“Wha—?” 

“It’s late,” she said softly.“It’s time for bed.” 

He blinked a few times and peered blearily at her, then reached for his glasses.“Grace?”He groaned and pushed his laptop farther away from himself.The screen lit up and she could see a map of the city with a blue line tracking something.He followed her gaze. 

“Oh, I hacked John’s cell phone company for details on where he might be,” he explained with a flush on his face.“From what I can tell, he went to work Saturday and mid-morning the signal cut out.There’s been nothing since.No data at all.” 

“Come to bed and tell me about it,” she encouraged him, shutting the laptop gently. 

Harold followed Grace down the hall to her bedroom and climbed into bed next to her, shifting around until they could hold each other comfortably.He rested his head on her chest.She started stroking his hair. 

“Talk to me, honey,” she said. 

Harold took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.He felt his throat closing up.“He wasn’t at his therapy appointment,” he croaked.“I was sure I’d be able to see him there, but he never came.I got there early, waited over half-an-hour.His therapist came to get him on the hour, then tried again at ten past, but he hadn’t come.” 

“Did she say anything to you?” 

“Pfwa— you know she can’t do that!She nodded in my direction, but that was all.She _did_ seem surprised when he wasn’t there the second time.” 

“Friday to Tuesday,” Grace mused.“Four days.” 

“It’s not like him to miss therapy,” Harold declared vehemently.“He’s always been on time or early.So I got worried.More worried than I’ve been.When I got back here I started hacking the cell company.I must have fallen asleep.” 

“Well, you’ve been worrying yourself into a tizzy ever since Friday,” she pointed out. 

“Wouldn’t _you_ be worried?” 

“Of course —“

“He hasn’t even set up his voicemail!How am I supposed to apologize if I can’t leave a message?And he hasn’t responded to any of my texts!Not a single one!” 

“How many have you sent?” 

“Oh, not too many.I managed to stop myself after ten.”He paused.“Maybe a few more… But I don’t want to come across as the overly-anxious boyfriend who needs to know where he is at all times, and I really _don’t_ need to know, but I’m just so worried —“

“You left more than a dozen texts?” 

“He hasn’t been responding!” Harold exclaimed.“It’s been _four days_!” 

“Maybe he needs time to —“

“I know,” he interrupted.“I thought of that.He’s probably still angry with me.He certainly has the right to be.I was rude and condescending and I’m sure I came off as judgmental, and I know he’s sensitive about money, and he has no idea how much I’m worth, so it might’ve sounded even worse — But I was just so disgusted that he could live there.Not because of the money, just because it was so _dirty_.I mean, it was truly _filthy!_ I don’t know how _anyone_ could live there, and I’m sure it’s in violation of a dozen health codes, and his particular room was a little cleaner than the rest of the place, but that still didn’t reassure me much, and I care about him, so…” 

He trailed off. 

“When I finally made it into the company’s database, I couldn’t find anything for him for the past three days.I had to go all the way back to Saturday to find data, and it just stops.I have no idea what could have happened!He could’ve broken the phone.He could’ve gotten into a fight.He could’ve been arrested again!What if he was arrested again?He’d only have the one phone call, and of course he’d call his lawyer, not me, but wouldn’t he tell the lawyer to tell me he was safe?He knows I worry.Should I hack the NYPD, do you think?Check the arrest records?” 

“No!” Grace barked fiercely.“Don’t you dare hack the NYPD!What if you got caught?” 

“I’d be careful,” he responded, defensive.“I can afford a plethora of good lawyers if something were to —“

“No!I don’t care how worried you are, you don’t get to put yourself at risk like that!” 

“But —“

“No, Harold.You have to give him time to get back in touch.What’s that saying?The simplest answer is usually the best one?” 

“Occam’s Razor,” he muttered absently. 

“Right!He probably just broke his phone.” 

“But he didn’t come to therapy this afternoon!He’s never missed therapy before.” 

“And you know that because…?”

“I see him every week.It’s part of our routine.It was even before he asked me out.” 

“Ok, so he broke his phone and got sick,” she suggested.“Or he broke his phone and had to work extra to get a new one.Or he —“

“Or he got into a fight and got arrested and is back in prison for violating his probation and I’ll never know and I’ll never see him again and I was really starting to like him, and I’d been looking forward to going a little farther with him that night because I had no idea how horrid his apartment would turn out to be, and now he’s gone, and what if I made him hate me by being worried about his health?What if I messed up my chances with him because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?What if —” 

“Sweetie, you’re catastrophizing again,” she commented, hugging him more tightly.“It’s not as bad as all that, I guarantee it.Besides, it’s the middle of the night.Why don’t you try to sleep?Problems always look better in the morning.” 

“The only way it could look better is for him to show up here and demand an apology.And I’d give it in a heartbeat!Of course I would!I’ve been over the whole night so many times in my head, and I know I was in the wrong.I know I wasn’t sensitive to his state of mind, or his insecurities, or whatever you want to call them.I just can’t get over how he hasn’t responded to my texts!” 

“I think you should give him some more time.” 

“How much, though?” 

“How much time did you give, uh, what’s his name?Carlos?” 

“Carlos was a philistine.” 

“Ok, what about Jerry?” 

Harold rolled slightly away from her so he could stare at the ceiling.“Two weeks,” he answered after a moment’s thought.“But that was after we dated for three months and we all know how much of _that_ argument was my fault.” 

“You already like John more than you ever liked Jerry.Give him two weeks to get back in touch.Then you can freak out.” 

Harold snorted.“As if it’s that simple.” 

She rolled her eyes and kissed his forehead.“At least try not to write him off too soon.Promise me, ok?Promise me you’ll give him two weeks.” 

“Two weeks?And if I haven’t heard from him by then?” 

“You have my full permission to rant and rave and cry on my shoulder.”She paused.“I’ll even agree to let you have one of your pricy lawyers look into seeing if he was arrested.” 

“That… seems reasonable,” Harold allowed.He sighed.“It’s just — I’m so _miserable_!” 

“I know.You care about him, and you hurt his feelings, and you want to make it up to him.” 

“How am I supposed to do that if he won’t respond to my texts?” 

“If he likes you as much as you think he does, he’ll get over it and call you.Be patient.” 

“You know, I distinctly remember you telling me not to lose my heart over him just a week ago,” he muttered peevishly. 

“Yeah, and then he called you the next day and made up for the issue.I think he wants to do the right thing, he’s just — having trouble.” 

“PTSD doesn’t let people go lightly, I suppose.I can’t imagine what it was like for him overseas.And then to come back and have the difficulties he’s had?I’m certain he’s still upset about all of that.Do you think he might have responded to me the way he did because I triggered something from his past?” 

“I’m sure that’s part of it,” she said.“But now it’s time for bed,” she added firmly.“We can speculate more tomorrow.” 

“Would you mind terribly if—“

“You slept here tonight?Of course not, honey.” 

Harold rolled over so he could snuggle against her again.“Thank you,” he whispered. 

.

.

.


	16. John Returns to Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like it says on the tin: John returns to therapy with Iris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working steadily on something for the POI Fic Exchange, and it's eating away at my writing time, but I've still been keeping other things in motion. Enjoy!

John crept into the waiting room with a guilty conscious, peeking around the corner to make sure he wouldn’t run into anyone he wasn’t supposed to see. 

“John?” Iris asked from behind him, making him jump.“There you are!Why don’t you come back to my office?” 

John grunted in agreement and followed meekly, his shoulders hunched in misery.At her office he dropped into his usual chair and frowned, turning his head so he wouldn’t have to look at her. 

“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” Iris said after ten minutes of silence from him.She crossed her legs as she watched him.His leg jiggled and he still wouldn’t meet her eyes.“You’ve cancelled our appointments at the last moment twice in a row, and you switched your appointment day.Should I infer that something happened between you and Harold?” 

“The fuck do you know?” John snarled.He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.He shouldn’t have come back.He knew it.But he had to because his probation officer would kick his ass if he missed another session without a doctor’s note, and he didn’t need more time with that asshole and the courts looming over his shoulder. 

“I’m not the enemy, John, and I highly doubt he is, either.” 

“You’re taking his side?It’s all his fault!” 

“What’s his fault?” 

“He made me do it!I didn’t want to, and now everything’s fucked up.”He looked over at her, seeing calmness and curiosity rather than the censure he expected.“I didn’t want to show him my place,” he admitted.“I was embarrassed, ok?But he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I brought him over.I thought maybe he wanted privacy to have sex, or something.And what does he do?He comes over and starts criticizing everything!‘There’s no light,’ he said,” John grumbled, imitating Harold’s voice with a prissier inflection to make his point.“‘There’s no space.You have to share a bathroom.’As if I have a choice in all of that!At least it’s not the goddamned Y!” 

“You’re getting agitated, John,” Iris stated gently. 

“No shit!He called me his motherfucking _boyfriend_ , then basically called me _shit_.” 

“So you were angry, and he —“

“I shouted at him.I made him leave.”John paused.“I _scared_ him.” 

“Did you hit him?” she asked bluntly. 

John jerked in his seat.“What?No!Why would you ask that?” 

“You’ve hit people before who made you angry.” 

“I’d _never_ hit Harold!I told you that before.Don’t you remember anything?Or do you need to write it all down?” he sneered.She ignored his anger and sarcasm as she had the last time they met.He grabbed a pamphlet from her desk — _PTSD and Anger_ — and started crumpling it up and straightening it again over and over. 

“What happened after he left?” 

“I stood under the cold water for an hour and went running until I could barely move.”They sat quietly for a moment.“I was feeling creepy, like those ants we talked about.I needed to move, to do something.” 

“Those _are_ two of the coping skills we’ve been working on.I’m glad you were able to remember them when you were so upset.”She wrote something down on her pad.“What did you say to him when you spoke next?Did you explain about PTSD?” 

“He knows all that stuff already,” John said.“But we haven’t spoken.” 

“How long has it—“

“It’s been two and a half weeks, and we haven’t spoken,” John interrupted.“And I know it’s my fault.And I know there’s nothing I can do to fix it.And I know it’s just another example of how my country screwed me by giving me PTSD, and how I’m a just a fuck-up and an asshole and why would anyone _ever_ think I was worth dating anyway? And —“

“You haven’t spoken?At all?” 

“He called the next day, but I was so nervous I dropped my phone in a bucket of paint,” John admitted sheepishly.“I haven’t had the money to replace it.Then I was angry.Then I was sure he’d be upset I didn’t answer.Then I was angry again.Then I was sure he didn’t want to speak to me and had just called to break up with me after all.Then —“

He looked at the mess of wrinkled glossy paper in his hands.“I almost got into a fight with some douchebag driving an SUV.My buddy Jeff had to hold me back.” 

“What about seeing Harold here?” she asked, deciding not to allow him to change the topic.“You know his schedule.Or going to his building and leaving a note to let him know about your phone?” 

“And come off as a crazy stalker?I’d already scared him!” 

“There are these things called _payphones_ ,” she said sarcastically. 

“Who the fuck uses those?” he growled. 

“You managed to call my office, twice!Did you at least listen to the voicemail from him?”

“I never set it up,” John admitted sheepishly. 

Iris sighed in the way that John knew would precede a question he didn’t want to answer.She sounded irritated at his stubbornness, and who wouldn’t be irritated with him right now?“Why did you change your therapy day when you knew you could see him if you didn’t?” 

John clammed up and looked away, his jaw clenched. 

“John?” 

“He was gonna leave anyway,” John hissed.“Why bother prolonging it?” 

“Oh, John,” she murmured, her voice soft with pity.His eyes flickered over to her.“You don’t think he’s not worried about that, too?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Maybe he feels that you abandoned him?” she suggested. “By not returning his calls?” 

John paused, thinking. 

“I know his type, John, just like I know yours.He’s probably sitting at home convinced that you don’t want to be with him because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about your place.” 

John blinked a few times.“You think so?” 

“It’s possible.” 

“Why do I have so many feelings about this?” he barked suddenly.“I barely know the man!We haven’t even slept together yet!” 

“I doubt you’d be having this many feelings if you had,” she suggested. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve used sex as a shortcut to developing relationships with men,” she said.“Instead of getting to know them as individuals or people, you’ve slept with them so you wouldn’t have to get to know them.You’d already categorized them as friends with benefits or fuck-buddies.With sex as the first and usually only interaction between you, there was no place for intimacy.” 

She paused, gauging John’s reaction.So far he seemed calm, curious.“With Harold, you’re getting to know him.His likes and dislikes.His life.You’ve met his roommate.You’re probably on the way to meeting some of his other friends.You’re developing intimacy with him.That sort of relationship is going to have more feelings than a sex-only one.” 

“That makes sense, I think.” 

“And remember what you said last month.He’s insecure about his sexual inexperience.You’re going to have to move very carefully with sexual matters, just so you don’t overwhelm him or sca— or intimidate him,” she said, correcting herself quickly. 

“Before I scare him away,” John muttered.“I’ve already scared him.You’re the only one I _haven’t_ scared.” 

“I’m used to big angry men shouting in my office,” she replied.“That’s part of the job.He’s not.He’s clearly a sensitive man.But I also think that an apology would go a long way.” 

“Even if we do figure this out now, he’s just going to leave me,” John whispered.“Only it’ll hurt more the longer it takes to happen.” 

“Maybe, maybe not, but think of the happiness you could have along the way.” 

John shut his eyes as he slowly tore the pamphlet apart.“I’m not worth it,” he said after a long pause.“Why would he be willing to try again?I scared him.I hurt him.I couldn’t even get over myself enough to call him.I’m a fucking —“He let the papers go and watched them drop to the floor.“I’m never going to get better, am I?I’m just a broken down mess of a man with no hope for a better life.”

“I know you don’t really believe that,” Iris commented.“And I seriously doubt Harold would agree, either.Try to stay positive.See if he’ll give you another chance.” 

John contemplated her words for a moment, thinking of Harold, of their fight, of his insecurities about Harold’s income verses his own… His eyes popped open suddenly, then narrowed in anger. 

“How well do you know him?” he demanded, his gaze intense. 

“I’m not sure —“

“You work here, he volunteers here.You’ve had to have met.” 

“I’m sure we’ve said hello at one point,” she replied.He sensed the hesitation in her voice and pounced.

“Are you laughing at me?Making fun of me behind my back with your therapist buddies?Here you are, letting me go on and on about how little money I have compared to him, how I don’t feel I can measure up, and you’ve known, _the whole time_ , that he was a fucking _billionaire_ like his ICT friends?How dare you —“

“I don’t know him personally,” she interrupted, showing a bit of steel in her manner that he didn’t often see.“He’s been volunteering here longer than I’ve worked here, and he’s very unassuming.” 

“But you knew as soon as I started seeing him who he was, didn’t you?” 

She paused and he sensed that she was testing her words in her head before she spoke. 

“There was an article in the employee quarterly newsletter last year thanking him for ten years of service.It had a small biography, which included that he helped form ICT.” 

“You _did_ know,” he accused. 

“I did,” she admitted. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked mournfully. 

“Because what we’re doing in here is about _you_ , not who or what I know.”She paused again.“He wants to be an anonymous volunteer twice a week.Who am I to break his wishes for confidentiality?I can’t, just as I can’t talk to anyone about your situation.Now that you’ve brought it up, however, we can talk about it, but I had to wait for you to mention it.That’s part of the ethics of therapy.”

“When you say things like that, I can’t justify being angry with you,” John grumbled.He leaned over to pick up the paper he’d dropped.“Now what am I supposed to do about him?” 

.

.

.


	17. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knew which window was Harold's apartment...

John knew which window was Harold’s apartment, so he stationed himself on a bus stop bench across the street to watch it.The lights were on and he could see Grace painting from where he sat.He couldn’t see Harold, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in his room at his desk with computer and laptop.He’d wait until either he knew Harold was home or all the lights went out.If all the lights went out, he’d come back the next day.If he saw Harold in the window or coming home, he’d try to grovel his way back into Harold’s good graces.Or at least into a conversation.A bus arrived and disgorged a load of passengers.He waved the driver on when he leaned over to see if John wanted to get on. 

“I suppose a man with more self-confidence than I would be upset to find you watching his window,” a dry, familiar voice said at his elbow.“As it is, I’m simply happy to find out that you’re not dead,” Harold continued wearily. 

John turned to Harold, an apology dying on his lips.Harold looked horrible.He had large dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were paler than usual.He hadn’t ironed his shirt, and his tie didn’t match either his shirt or suit.The shoulder carrying his briefcase sagged. 

“I do look a fright, don’t I?” Harold murmured, running a hand through his hair to attempt to made it into a semblance of its normal spikiness. 

“I am _so_ sorry!” John exclaimed, getting to his feet.“I can explain.” 

Harold shook his head.“Frankly, I’m not sure I want to hear it.” 

“I dropped my phone in a bucket of paint,” John rushed on, needing to confess, to gain absolution.“I didn’t have money for a new one,” he continued, repeating what he’d said to Iris a few hours earlier.“I was upset with myself for yelling at you.I was embarrassed.”He took a deep breath.“I was scared you’d stop wanting to see me once you knew how I lived.”He frowned to himself and glanced up at the window.“I was scared you’d never want to see me again after I yelled at you.You don’t deserve that.I shouldn’t have done it.I was a jerk, and I’m sorry.” 

When he looked back at Harold, he found him texting.Harold noticed his scrutiny and finished what he was doing.“Come with me,” Harold said, grabbing John’s hand and tugging him towards the corner.He followed with a combination of reluctance and hope. 

They ended up at a used bookstore/cafe a few blocks away where the proprietor welcomed Harold by name and brought coffee and tea to their table without being asked. 

“I was extremely hurt by how you treated me,” Harold started, staring into the mug in his hands.“And I recognize that coming here puts us in my territory rather than neutral ground, so to speak, but I didn’t think either of our apartments would be appropriate and I don’t feel comfortable having this conversation in an unfamiliar location.” 

John opened his mouth to respond, but Harold must have seen the movement in the corner of his eye because he raised a hand to stop John. 

“Please let me finish,” he said firmly.“I was extremely hurt and also frightened.”Harold sipped his tea.“My father was a veteran, you know.” 

“I know,” John answered softly. 

“He was 38 when I was born, old for his generation, but on time for returning veterans.” Harold continued.“We lost my mother when I was three.We lived alone, just the two of us, in a small farmhouse in Iowa.” 

“I know.You’ve told me this.” 

Harold’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked up at John. 

“Sorry,” John whispered, chastised by Harold’s expression. 

“My father was the gentlest of men.He never raised his voice.He never hit me.He never lost his temper.He never drank or gambled or had gratuitous sex, like so many of his contemporaries did.He was, however, plagued by nightmares.Night terrors.Flashbacks.It took him an hour or two to wake up in the mornings, to get out of the flashbacks and be able to be himself.I learned early how to tiptoe around him when he was in those states, because then he was agitated, frightened and frightening. 

“It wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned of how the war impacted my father’s life beyond the battlefield and how it impacted my own upbringing,” Harold continued.“What I’m trying to say, John, is that I understand trauma and how much of one’s life it interrupts.I know there will be times when you may say things you mean in the heat of the moment when you’re angry but don’t mean when you’re calm.I know there will likely be other times when you raise your voice.” 

John swallowed a gulp of lukewarm coffee, transfixed by Harold’s words. 

“I accepted that those things could potentially be a part of our relationship when I agreed to date you,” Harold declared.“The circumstances under which we met all but guaranteed it, or something like it,” he added.“We’d talked about you getting angry in a theoretical sense, but I wasn’t ready to experience it in such a real way the other night.I was overwhelmed.I needed time to sort out if it was something I was willing to risk dealing with again. 

“In all of the scenarios I thought up beforehand, you see, you never told me to leave.You’d yell and curse and swear, sometimes at me, even, but to be told to get out and fuck off, that hurt quite a bit.I didn’t like the experience. 

“And besides all that, I was also out of line.I recognize that.I shouldn’t have said all that I did, nor said it the way I did.It was unnecessarily thoughtless and hurtful of me.I’m sorry, too.” 

“Thanks,” John murmured. 

“I won’t stand for physical violence between us.If that were to happen, I’m sorry to say that you wouldn’t get another chance.” 

“I’d never hurt you like that,” John affirmed.“I’ve never hit anyone I cared about and I’m not about to start now.The closest I got was —“ He broke off, feeling a flush of shame on his cheeks simply by remembering the incident.“I raised my fist at Jessica and took a step towards her.She was frightened, of course.She just looked so scared.I couldn’t hurt her, so I punched a wall instead.Broke two fingers, had to go to the ER.”He sighed and repositioned himself in his chair.“That’s — that’s when she broke up with me.” 

Harold reached out and stroked John’s knuckles.“It must have been difficult,” he commented. 

“I was ashamed of myself.Still am,” John admitted.“She did the right thing, though, by breaking up with me.I know that now.I’m not a violent person.At least, I don’t want to be.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. 

“My biggest problem with the situation over the past few weeks has been the lack of communication.I had no idea if you were _alive_!” Harold exclaimed, his mostly unemotional mask falling off suddenly.“I’ve seen men do horribly drastic things when in an agitated state like that, just at the VA.Broken windows, thrown chairs, physical assaults.Not many times, granted, but I’ve been witness to a number of incidents.I’ve heard about murders and suicides and murder-suicides.I didn’t think you’d go to either of those two extremes, but I didn’t know!” 

Harold shoved his tea aside and grabbed John’s hand, gripping it extremely tightly. 

“I _care_ about you, John, and it’s been excruciating not hearing from you!I allowed a few days for you to return my phone call and texts before the anxiety took over, but after that, I’ve spent most of the time worried sick.I haven’t slept, I’ve barely eaten.You weren’t at your usual appointment, and I thought something happened —Then you weren’t there _again_ —

“I hacked the NYPD database to make sure you weren’t arrested!I gave up illegal hacking when I was in college, John, and I did it last week to find you!I was so _worried_ —

“If we’re going to keep seeing each other, we’re going to have to set some ground rules,” Harold continued in a suddenly much calmer voice.It made John shiver in his seat.“You can’t disappear like that again.Even if all you do is leave me a voicemail from a payphone, I need some reassurance that you’re ok.Or a text from a stranger’s phone, or an email.Hell, even a note stuck under my door!”Harold’s voice cracked under the strain of his emotions. 

John nodded, unable to voice the agreement to Harold’s stipulation though he felt it intensely.He thought of Iris and how she’d suggested all those things. 

“I’ll do my best not to make snap judgements,” Harold continued.“And I’ll try to take into account our differences in income more appropriately.And maybe I was wrong to leave so quickly.Maybe that made you think I wasn’t really interested in seeing you again, though that wasn’t my intention.I _did_ try to tell you.” 

“You shouldn’t be taking responsibility for my abandonment issues,” John blurted.“You said you didn’t want to break up, but I didn’t hear it.I was too angry to hear it, too embarrassed and hurt and full of self-hatred.”He ran his fingers through his hair.“I went to see Iris today for the first time since then.She called me out on not talking to you.Said you might be worried I was leaving you…”

“I was more concerned you’d done something rash or gotten hurt somehow,” Harold said, answering John’s unspoken question.“Though, admittedly, the idea that you were repulsed by my privilege and inability to keep my mouth shut had me a little worried you were choosing to stop seeing me, given how many texts I sent that you didn’t return.” 

John blanched.“You texted, too?” 

“Far too many times, Grace told me.I tried to limit myself to one or two a day after she informed me I was going overboard.” 

John tilted his head as he calculated in his head.“So when I get a new phone, I’m going to find two-dozen frantic texts from you asking where I am and why I’m not responding?” 

“And apologies.I did quite a bit of that, too.” 

John rubbed his temple.“We both fucked up, didn’t we?” 

“Yes,” Harold said with a sigh.He took a sip of tea and made a face at how cold it was.“I should really be getting home,” he murmured.“I let Grace know we ran into each other and were coming here for a few minutes, but she’ll start to worry soon.” 

“Before you go, would it be ok if I asked you out again?” John wondered.“Start over fresh?” 

Harold took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief.“Are you able to promise not to disappear like that again?” he asked when he put them back on. 

“You have my word,” John replied.“I’ll call from a payphone or text from someone else’s phone if I lose mine.I promise.” 

“Then yes, John, we can go out again.” 

“Thank you,” John breathed, lightheaded with relief. 

John walked Harold back to his building, hugged him goodbye, and promised to call the next day when he got a new phone now that he had some cash from a job over the weekend.They didn’t kiss. 

.

.

.


	18. Harold's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold and John go on a second first date, and Harold has something to share.

“I have a slight confession to make,” Harold said softly, freezing John where he sat, a forkful of eggs Benedict halfway to his mouth.They were at Harold’s favorite diner, having breakfast for lunch at 2pm.It was Friday, four days since John had gone to Harold’s apartment to beg forgiveness.It was also their new first date. 

John carefully set down his fork and untasted food.He sat back in the booth, clutching his knees to keep from crossing his arms over his chest defensively.Harold stared down at his own eggs Benedict, running the tines of his fork through the hollandaise sauce. 

“I’m listening,” John replied.He winced when his voice came out more harsh than he would have liked.He hated surprises.At least the kind that began like that. 

Harold swallowed visibly, then drew a deep breath.“I may have — no, I _did_ —“ He stopped, steeling himself to finish.“I deliberately downplayed my position at ICT and my financial resources.”He closed his eyes as if waiting for a blow. 

John felt all the tension leave his body in a rush.He picked up his fork again.“I know,” he answered calmly.“It’s not a revelation, Harold.” 

Harold’s head shot up.“What?” 

John leaned forward, abandoning his breakfast a second time.He reached for Harold’s hand.“You didn’t tell me because you were worried I’d start treating you like a sugar daddy, or something, right?You’ve probably dated men who thought they could offer sex for money, or gifts, or a job at ICT, but when you weren’t ready for sex, they started cajoling you for it, pushing for it, because of that unwritten rule that they were there for a particular reason, and when that still didn’t work, they said nasty things to you, potentially about you being prudish or frigid, and that hurt your feelings and made it even harder to trust.Am I on the right track?” 

Harold’s eyes were wide — surprised and solemn.“How did you —?” 

“How did I know?Once I figured out you had money, it was an easy assumption that you’d been burned because of it.And you’d told me yourself that men didn’t stick around when you wanted them to wait longer than they thought necessary.” 

“But how did you know I have money?” 

John rolled his eyes as playfully as he could, affection bubbling in his mind instead of annoyance.Harold wasn’t insulting his intelligence or ability to make connections, he was simply baffled that John had made the deduction and hadn’t mentioned it before.He let go of Harold’s hand and started eating, making his words as matter of fact as he could. 

“You went to school with Nathan Ingram and Arthur Claypool.Not only were you classmates and friends, but you _lived_ with them for at least two years.You’re still friends 30 years later and work at Ingram-Claypool Technologies.If you’re not a silent third partner in the business, you’re high on the chain of command.Probably Vice President of Technological Development, or something equivalent.I’d have checked the ICT website to find out for certain, but I didn’t want to invade your privacy.I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” 

Harold blinked slowly, processing.He shifted in his seat.“I don’t have a formal title within the company,” he whispered.“But, yes, I’m a silent partner.”He pushed a poached egg off an English muffin.“I’m worth billions.” 

“Yeah,” John said with a huff.“The three of you are in Forbes, I bet.” 

“We are.I hate the notoriety, the requests for money from complete strangers, the way people assume I’m a corporate asshole, just because of my bank account.” He sighed.“I give a lot to charity!I —“

“Hey, it’s ok,” John said, resting a hand on Harold’s forearm.“You don’t need to convince me of anything.I know you’re a good guy.That’s part of why I like you!” 

Harold nodded, his head down.He sniffled. 

“Why do you think I was so angry when you came to my place?” John asked, deciding to change the topic. 

“Because I was criticizing your living situation.Because you speculated on my net worth compared to your own and found yourself wanting.Because — Because you felt ashamed.” 

“Yeah, all that was part of it,” John said.“But there was more.I’ve been talking with Iris about it.I had an extra session this week,” he explained.“And I’m switching back to Tuesdays, just so you know.”He took a breath and let it out slowly, preparing to spill his guts like Iris suggested.She’d been certain Harold would appreciate it, given his own sometimes startling admissions about himself. 

“I pissed away my savings with drinking when I first got back from overseas, then I made some more bad decisions and ended up in jail, ruining my chances at getting a good job.I get a pension for my service, but it feels like a government handout, even though I earned it and have the injuries to prove it.It’s just enough to get by, no room for extras.” 

Harold had started eating, finally, though his attention was more on John and his words. 

“My masculinity’s taken a pretty big hit the last few years,” John said.“I can’t even support myself very well, so how am I supposed to support a partner?” 

“You don’t have to support me!” Harold interjected. 

“No, but I’d want to.That’s something I’m probably going to have to get over.And I don’t want money from you.I want to be able to take care of myself, to have enough, to not be hurting.Independent, you know?” 

“Everyone wants independence,” Harold commented. 

“The point is, I was angry because I thought you were pointing out how much less of a man I was because I couldn’t support myself.We talked about that before, about other people, but it applies to me, too, and probably you, but in other ways.”He held up a hand quickly.“I know that’s not what you were doing, and I know that’s not what you intended, but the anger took over and didn’t give me a chance to think all this through until later.” 

“So what you’re saying is…?” 

“I already suspected about ICT when we had the argument.I’m not dating you for your money, and I’d be uncomfortable if you tried to give me cash or lavish gifts, or whatever.I think you’re an incredibly smart and sensitive man, and I’m really attracted to you.I also think that when you find the right partner, someone you can truly trust, you’ll be sensual and sexy and insatiable for a while as you figure out your likes and dislikes in the bedroom.”He paused to make sure he had Harold’s attention, though he didn’t really think he’d lost it. 

“Frankly, I’m getting a little hot and bothered just imagining the _possibility_ that I _might_ be that man.” 

Harold opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything. 

“And I might not be,” John concluded.“I understand that.”He paused again.“I want earn back your trust to be given the opportunity.I want to be the man you trust.” 

Harold’s cheeks were red.He looked down.He fiddled with his spoon.“You make all my hesitations sound —“

“Self-protective,” John interjected.“You’ve been hurt.You’re trying to take care of yourself.I get it.” 

They remained mostly silent as they ate, watching each other. 

“Perhaps a walk?” Harold suggested when they were done.John smiled and held out his hand, thrilled when Harold took it. 

.

.

.


	19. Museum Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John asks Harold to go to a museum with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice long chapter for your enjoyment!

“Harold!” John called, jogging down the VA hallway to catch up to him.Harold turned with a smile. 

“John,” he said in greeting.“Are you finished with Dr. Campbell already?It’s a little early.” 

John shifted from foot to foot and shrugged.“After two sessions last week, I needed something shorter today,” he explained.“And I wanted to find you.” 

“You could have texted.” 

“Yeah, I know, but…”John glanced up and down the hall, then rubbed the back of his neck nervously.There were three people at the far end of the hallway, near the elevators, but otherwise they were alone.“Some things you gotta say in person,” he mumbled. 

Harold felt his stomach drop.What could be so important that John had to talk in person?He was obviously nervous and agitated, so it couldn’t be anything good…

“I was thinking…” John said, scanning the empty hallway again. 

Harold’s mind started filling in the blanks. 

_I was thinking we should break up._

_I was thinking we’re not a good fit after all._

_I was thinking this no-sex thing is getting to me._

_I was thinking —_

“Are you free Thursday?Or could you make some time?I have an appointment in the morning about my hand, but I was thinking, maybe afterwards I could take you to lunch?And then, if you wanted, we could go to a museum?I don’t know much about art, but I have a feeling you do, so would you want to show me some of your favorites?Or some things everyone’s supposed to know?” 

“A museum?” Harold asked, relief flooding him.“You want to go to a museum?With me?” 

“Who else would I go with?” John replied.“I want to date you, not Grace, and none of my buddies from work are into that kind of thing.” 

“I think that would be lovely,” Harold said, smiling again.“I’ll rearrange my shift here.” 

“That won’t be a problem?” 

“Oh, no, I’m friendly with some other volunteers.It won’t be a problem.” 

“One question: Do I have to wear a suit?” 

“To go to a museum?No.If you have a shirt and jacket, that would be fine over jeans.”They stood there smiling at each other for a moment.“Come, I’ll show you where to wait and we can get tea when I’m done.”Harold reached for his hand. 

John took a quick step back, shaking his head.“Not here,” he blurted. 

Harold frowned in consternation. 

“I don’t feel comfortable holding your hand here,” John said. 

“But —“

“I know what you’re thinking.I kissed you that time.But Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is still legal, and that means that I’ve gotta be discrete when I’m at the VA.” 

“Oh.I didn’t think of that.Well, if you’re interested, there’s a pastry shop a block and a half uptown that makes delightful frosted donuts.If you tell them you’re meeting me, they’ll know to make my cappuccino when I come in.I tend to go there after I do this volunteering most days.” 

“You like your routines, don’t you?” John asked with a smirk that he tried to hide behind his hand. 

“I’ve never been good with surprises,” Harold answered.“Routine calms me.” 

“I’ll see you at the bakery,” John said. 

.

.

.

Going to the museum seemed to have ignited Harold’s libido, for he leaned over to kiss John as soon as they were in a taxi on the way back to his apartment.John returned the kisses eagerly.He hadn’t expected the burst of passion, but he wasn’t going to let it go without reciprocating, not when it was the first real kiss since their argument, three dates into their ‘new’ relationship — they’d kissed more on their first first date, making out on Harold’s sofa. 

Harold’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. 

“Ignore it,” John mumbled as he kissed Harold’s ear.He ran his tongue along the edge, drawing a sharp gasp from Harold. 

The phone buzzed again.Harold pressed his palm to John’s chest and he backed off.Harold glanced at the screen. 

“Nathan?” Harold asked, connecting the call. 

“Evening, Harold.Did you forget we have a Board meeting in an hour?”Despite being on speaker-phone, Nathan’s voice was pleasant and warm, and John liked it immediately.“Usually you’d be here running through projections for the third time with me and Arthur.”He paused.“I hope you’re off doing something salacious with that boyfriend of yours,” he added with the verbal equivalent of a wink.

“I —“Harold looked to John with wide eyes and panic on his face.John grinned. 

“The meeting’s at the ICT building downtown, right?I’ll have him there in time,” John said before slipping the phone from Harold’s unresponsive fingers and hanging up.He tapped on the glass partition and gave the cabbie the new address, having memorized it just in case of such a situation. 

“You have a suit at work to change into?” he asked, returning the phone.Harold had dressed down to match John for their date, wearing dark jeans, a button-down shirt and a vest, minus the tie.Personally, John thought he looked hot, but even _he_ knew jeans wouldn’t be appropriate for the board meeting of a multi-billion dollar corporation, dark though they were. 

Harold swallowed.“No, but I can have one delivered,” he responded.He started texting.“I’m sorry to have to call this short,” he mumbled, most of his focus still on his phone.“I can’t believe I forgot —“

“I could hang out,” John suggested when Harold trailed off.“You know, put my feet up on your desk and play Solitaire on your fancy computer, play the part of kept man.” 

Harold’s head jerked up.“Excuse me?” 

“Roll-play,” John continued.“Just for the night.” 

Harold narrowed his eyes speculatively, his thumbs flying on his phone’s screen. 

“Will you allow me to buy you an appropriate suit?” 

John frowned, but the sparkle in Harold’s eyes decided him.“Sure.Just the one, though.” 

“Excellent.Put your measurements in here, please,” Harold said, handing over his phone.While John squinted at the screen and the input form, Harold leaned forward to get the cabbie’s attention.“Excuse me, there’s been another change of plans.” 

“Man, that’s the third time you change where you going!” the cabbie complained, his Spanish accent softening his words. 

“For your trouble,” Harold replied, producing a $100 bill from somewhere.“And if you wait at our destination, there’ll be another $100 on top of your meter to get us to the next address.It shouldn’t be more than an hour.” 

“Whatever you say, man,” the cabbie replied, making the bill disappear, now sounding much less put upon. 

“I don’t know all these measurements,” John muttered, handing back the phone.Harold glanced briefly at it, then sent the form wherever it had to go. 

“Please don’t worry, John.Pradi needs the basics now, but he’ll likely measure you himself once we’re there.” 

“Pradi being your tailor?” 

“Hmm,” Harold agreed.“One of them.My favorite in this country, though.If we’re talking about my favorite tailor in _Italy_ … that would be Gianni.”He returned his attention to the phone and his texts.John sighed and leaned back against the seat. 

“Hey, we’re here, but I think the place is closed,” the cabbie said as he pulled to a stop a few minutes later. 

As they turned to look, a dark storefront beside the cab lit up, and a man of about 30 with clear Italian heritage unlocked and opened the front door.Harold got out of the cab and went to greet him, John following. 

“Michele, so good to see you again,” Harold said.The inside of the store was bright after the dark cab, but John found his eyes adjusting well enough.He smelled wool and leather and chalk.There were suits hanging, but also shirts and ties and he could see past a curtain into a room full of fabric rolls. 

“Our pleasure, Mr. Heron.Papa says you’re in a hurry, so we’ll have to go with the glenn check in navy, if that’s all right.The other two aren’t ready to wear at all, he says.” 

Harold nodded.“That’s fine, I _do_ understand it’s a bit unusual for me to call on such short notice.This is John,” he said, resting a hand on John’s upper arm. 

Michele gave John a careful look.He extended a hand.“Papa will see to you personally, Mr. Harris.” 

John shook his hand mechanically, feeling out of his depth.“Sure.Thanks.” 

“I told them your name,” Harold whispered at John’s look of confusion.“Michele is Pradi’s eldest,” he added.“He stands to inherit the business, while his sister and brother tend to their own pursuits.The other young men you’ll meet are Pradi’s nephews, here on apprenticeships.They’ll be returning to Italy after ten or so years as assistant tailors under Pradi, well able to start their own businesses or go their own ways.” 

As Harold spoke, the front door opened with a jingle and the two men he referred to walked in, slightly flushed from rushing.They greeted Harold and John, then disappeared into the back where Michele had gone. 

“Just try to relax and let Pradi work his magic,” Harold advised him just as an older gentleman arrived in the shop from the apartment above.He greeted Harold effusively and turned to John. 

“Mr. Harris, I presume?” 

“John is fine,” John answered, shaking the extended hand. 

“Good, good.You, come with me.Mr. Harold, the boys will see to the fitting for you.” 

Pradi led John through the back room filled with cloth to a separate room with huge mirrors and a built-in stand.There were several half-made suits hanging on the walls, and Pradi moved from one to another as John stripped down to his underwear and stood awkwardly on the stand.Pradi looked at a sheet of paper he produced from his pocket, then his eyes traveled over John’s body, the assessment clear in his gaze. 

“These numbers, they’re all wrong,” he declared, tossing away the paper and taking out a small notebook and pencil.“You gave them, yes?You must learn!The waist, too tight.The inseam, too short.A good suit, she is snug, not loose, but also not restrictive.There should be a hint of what lies beneath.”He continued muttering to himself in a mixture of English and Italian as he measured more parts of John’s body than Johnexpected for a simple suit. 

“Stand up,” Pradi ordered him.“You slouch to match Mr. Harold, but he would prefer you straight and tall.” 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me _straight_ …” John mumbled under his breath. 

“Pah!”Pradi sniffed and swatted John’s ass.“You must learn respect,” he added primly.John sucked in a breath, startled, and stood at attention.“Yes, yes, this I can work with.” 

.

.

.

“Stop fidgeting with it,” Harold complained, pulling John’s hand away from the knot of his tie.John grumbled softly, allowing Harold to keep his hand.“Why are you so nervous?” Harold asked. 

“I’m not nervous,” John answered automatically.Harold raised a skeptical eyebrow.“Fine, I’m a little nervous.” 

“What about?Nathan and Arthur are very down-to-earth,” Harold continued.“They’re going to love you.Though I’m sure they’ll appreciate that you dressed up for the occasion.” 

“Didn’t want to look like I walked in off the street with you in your two-thousand dollar suit,” John said. 

“John, we both know that’s not the real reason you’re so upset.  And this suit cost significantly more than $2000.” 

John huffed out a breath.“What did you tell them about our argument?” 

“You mean our misunderstanding?” Harold clarified.“I worked from home the entire first week, then avoided them for a few days.When they found me and confronted me about looking like I hadn’t slept, I explained that you’d been triggered by something and were having a PTSD flair-up and I was worried about you.All true, by the way,” Harold declared as if preparing for John to fight him. 

“So they don’t know I yelled at you?” 

“No, they don’t,” Harold said.“And you weren’t really yelling at me, anyway.You had a trauma reaction.” 

“That’s not an excuse —“

“Must we talk about this now?” Harold interrupted, letting go of John’s hand to pull off his glasses to clean them. 

“No, I guess not,” John mumbled.He sighed.“So, uh, Nathan called me your boyfriend…”

“I wondered if you’d caught that.” 

“Are we?Boyfriends?” 

“Would you want us to be?” 

“You called me that before our fight,” John stated softly.“We never got to talk about it.” 

“No, I suppose we didn’t, at that.”Harold put his glasses back on.He fiddled with a cufflink.“It’ll be two months from our first date soon,” he said.“The first first one, I mean.And I know we talked about starting over, but we never broke up when we weren’t talking, and I like the idea of having you as my boyfriend, and two months isn’t really that long, but I’ve called men my boyfriend after less time, and I feel more — _feelings_ — for you than I really ever remember feeling for any of them, so, I think what I’m trying to say is that, yes, I’d like us to be boyfriends.” 

John blinked a few times as he processed the wall of words.“So, yes?” 

“Only if _you_ want to,” Harold protested.“I might be making assumptions again, and I don’t want to do that…”

John felt his entire face light up in a smile.“Yes, Harold, I’d like that, too.” 

Harold returned the smile and brought John’s face down for a tender kiss. He pulled back so he could meet John’s eyes. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too,” John responded, still grinning. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of the ICT Plaza.John sighed, cupped Harold’s cheek for a moment, then got out of the cab. 

Harold handed a business card through to the cab driver, along with several hundred dollars.He’d written his home address and cell number on the back. 

“You’ll deliver our things to the address here?” he asked.“My roommate will accept them.” 

“Sure, man, yeah.” 

“Thank you.” 

Harold shifted towards the door John held open for him. 

“Hey, I, um, I just wanna say, good luck with your boyfriend.” 

Harold froze.“Pardon me?” 

“I don’t mean no disrespect, but, uh, I see a lot, driving a cab, and usually when two guys get in and start kissing like you did, well, I can kind of tell it’s about one thing, you know?But you two, you like each other more than that.He don’t want to wear that fancy suit, but he’s doing it to please you, right, so next time, try not to be embarrassed if he wears jeans when meeting your friends.You gotta give up some things, too, you know?Like, for him.” 

Harold glanced over at John, standing by the door looking dashing.“You think so?” 

“All I know is that when my wife looked at _me_ like that, we made our son.” 

“Oh, my.Well, I’ll certainly take that under advisement.If I may ask, how long have you been married?” 

“Eight years.She’s back in my country with our son, so I haven’t seen her since I came here.” 

“Do you have plans to bring them here?Or to return yourself?” 

“Man, I’m from Cuba.I can’t go back.It costs a lot of money to get them here.It’ll take me a long time, driving a cab.” 

“Would you be interested in a salaried position?” Harold wondered.“My company is always looking for good drivers.We’d offer benefits, of course.” 

“You seem really nice and all, but —“The cabbie sighed and rubbed his face.“I don’t got the papers for a real job.” 

Harold frowned.“I didn’t think of that.I’m sure our HR department could help.Get you a work visa, or whatever it is you need.That way you could save up and bring them here sooner.” 

“I don’t know what planet you came from, but stuff like that don’t happen to guys like me.” 

“Think about it.My cell number is on the back of the card.If you change your mind, let me know.You’ve been very kind to John and I, and I greatly appreciate it and would like to do you a favor in return, if I may.” 

John leaned over and poked his head back into the cab.“You almost done, Harold?” 

“Just a moment more, please,” Harold responded.“I’m trying to offer — my goodness, I don’t even know your name!” 

“Fermin,” the cabbie said.“Fermin Ordoñez.” 

“Good to meet you, Fermin.I’m Harold and —“

“Ordoñez?” John demanded, half-falling into the cab in his excitement.“Fermin Ordoñez?You were picked up back in ’05 with Rafael Acosta, weren’t you?Did some time in Double A before you had that shoulder injury?” 

Harold looked from John’s face to the cabbie’s slightly upset expression. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” Fermin agreed after a moment. 

John tumbled fully into the cab, taking a seat again.“Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but I admired you when I heard your story,” he said.“Defecting from Cuba to play baseball, trying to make the American dream for yourself.That takes courage.” 

“Uh, thank you.” 

“You keep up what you’re doing, things’ll get better for you,” John declared firmly.“Especially when Harold’s involved.It’s working for me.”He ran a possessive hand through the hair on the back of Harold’s head. 

“I’ll, I’ll think about it,” Fermin said.“Thank you.”He held up the card and cash, then tossed it into a money box beside him on the front seat. 

Once they were on the pavement, John stood tall and offered his arm to Harold, who slipped his hand into the crook of his elbow.“This way,” Harold murmured and proceeded to lead them through the glass doors of the ICT building and over to the elevator.“We’ll go see Nathan and Arthur first, then I’ll take you to my office,” he explained, tapping his security card and pressing 42. 

John recognized both men in the corner office; he’d looked them up soon after finding out that they were Harold’s friends.He knew that Arthur Claypool was the man with the bushy, graying beard who sat at the desk while Nathan Ingram in his blonde glory leaned over his shoulder to look at the monitors, the 'face' of ICT.They looked up at his and Harold’s approach. 

“So this is the famous John?” Nathan said as he straightened up.He moved around the desk with the grace of a man secure in himself.John wondered how real that confidence was.His grip was strong, testing.John held himself back from making it into the contest Ingram seemed to want.“Nathan Ingram.” 

“John Harris,” John answered, nodding in acknowledgement. 

Arthur moved with less fluidity, but his smile seemed more genuine.He took John’s hand and covered their linked hands with the other, giving a hearty shake.“So good to meet you,” he declared.“Harold’s told us all about you.” 

“Good things, I hope,” John replied, hearing the humor in his own voice — a response to Arthur’s goodwill. 

Harold stood beside him, beaming at his friends.“What did I tell you?” he blurted.“Isn’t he gorgeous?” 

Nathan and Arthur shared a look that John interpreted as fondness. 

“Yes, yes, you’ve picked a _very_ handsome man to introduce to us,” Nathan commented.“You have _excellent_ taste.” 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Nathan, stop baiting him!” Arthur exclaimed.“Can’t you see how nervous he is?” 

Nathan narrowed his eyes.Harold thinned his lips, starting to frown.John rolled his eyes. 

“If we’re done pretending to be middle schoolers, don’t you three have a meeting to go to?” he asked. 

The tension snapped and everyone chuckled. 

“I like him already,” Arthur declared, patting John on the back. 

.

.

.


	20. After the Board Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold drags John home after the board meeting, as promised.

Harold didn’t give them time to say hello to Grace when they got back to his apartment after the board meeting, taking John’s hand and dragging him through to his bedroom at speed. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little rude to —“

Harold’s demanding kiss cut John off.He shoved both hands into John’s hair and pressed himself against John’s body, allowing John to feel his arousal. 

“Hey, ok, we can do this,” John agreed breathlessly, pulling Harold even closer.Before he could do anything else, one of Harold’s hands slipped between them, undoing his fly with practiced ease.Harold took hold of his burgeoning erection and squeezed.“Holy shit,” he gasped, bucking into Harold’s grasp.He had a wild thought to drop to his knees, but it had been months since any hand but his own had touched his dick, and Harold seemed quite insistent with his strokes, and…

He got his hand around Harold’s dick and Harold _moaned_ , almost losing his footing as he threw his head back.John locked his knees and clutched at Harold’s back with his free hand, keeping them pressed together.He sucked on the skin over Harold’s Adam’s apple and bit lightly at his jaw while working Harold with his hand, feeling them both shaking;Harold’s hand was moving like lightning up and down his shaft.Harold pulled his hand free to lick his palm, then smeared it across the head of John’s cock. 

“Do you have _any idea_ how hard it was to sit in that meeting, knowing you were waiting for me?” Harold hissed, flicking the head with his thumb.“All I could think about was you lounging in the suit, waiting, waiting…” 

“Waiting for you,” John agreed, capturing Harold’s lips again in a wet kiss.“Wanting you.”He maneuvered Harold’s erection out of his fly into the air, then helped Harold with his so that they could stroke them against each other.Harold got with the program instantly, linking his fingers with John’s to create a column for them to thrust into.“Gonna make you come all over this nice new suit you bought me,” John declared, stepping up the pace, feeling daring. 

“Pradi would kill me,” Harold gasped.He moaned again, angling for a better grip. 

“Oh, I’m sure he expects it,” John murmured.He twisted his wrist, making them both gasp and shudder.“He warned me, you know.Warned me not to hurt you.” 

Harold let his forehead rest on John’s chest, shutting his eyes tightly and shivering.“Almost,” he whispered.“Just a little more…”

“Your little Italian tailor knows what we’re doing, Harold,” John continued in a deep purr.“So do Nathan and Arthur.” 

“Hah, ah, ah,” Harold gasped, shaking his head against John’s chest.His glasses were completely fogged over. 

“Grace knows, too,” John continued.Harold’s breathing hitched and he felt the swelling of Harold’s erection that meant he was about to come. “Come on, Harold, come for me.” 

“Yes!Oh, fuck, yes!” 

Harold’s dick pulsed between them.John felt the warmth and wet on his hand and let himself go, adding to the mess.They collapsed in a heap against the door, sliding down so they lay on the floor, legs and arms around each other, breathing each other’s breath.John tried for a kiss, missed Harold’s mouth and found his nose, then cheek.Harold gave a breathy chuckle and moved his face for real kisses. 

“I’m never going to be able to wear this again without thinking about this,” John said after a few minutes.He looked around to see if there was a tissue within easy reach. 

Harold casually wiped his hand down John’s pantleg, then took John’s wrist to encourage him to do the same.“Don’t worry about it,” Harold murmured.“This was an off-the-rack throw away from the start.Pradi would need two weeks to make a proper suit for you, perhaps more with fittings.” 

“I don’t think I want to know how much you spent on a ‘throw away’ suit,” John muttered to himself. 

“No, probably not.I have no doubts that it would make you decidedly uncomfortable, and since we’ve just had such a lovely interlude, I’d rather not spoil the moment.” 

“Speaking of spoiling the moment…”

“You can’t stay?” Harold guessed, the sparkle fading in his eyes. 

John shook his head sadly.“I want to, but… I wasn’t able to work today.I need to try for some income tomorrow.”

“At least hold me for a little while,” Harold cajoled, swallowing to hide his disappointment. 

“Until you fall asleep,” John promised, kissing him again. 

.

.

.

Grace was still reading on the sofa when John left Harold’s room several hours later, changed back into his jeans and carrying his shoes; the suit and the rest of the new things left in the dry cleaning pile.They eyed each other warily. 

“I’m not sneaking out,” John blurted, rubbing his arm. 

She sighed and put down her book, a finger between the pages to mark her place.“But you’re not staying,” she commented. 

“He knows.We talked about it.” 

“Make sure he has a message from you to wake up to,” she said coldly, raising her book to hide her face. 

John almost turned around and crawled back into Harold’s bed at the rebuke, but he needed the money, and if he’d learned anything that day, it was that there was no way he’d ever have more than drops in the bucket next to Harold. 

He wanted to be able to make his own way.Harold knew that.Harold understood that.His fingers drummed against the Metrocard in his pocket.Time to go home. 

.

.

.


	21. Grace Talks About Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it says on the tin. Grace talks about her dating history with John.

Harold hadn’t arrived home when John got there, so Grace let him in and offered a glass of wine.He declined and accepted water instead. 

“What are you doing today?” Grace asked, taking a seat next to him on the couch and curling her legs under herself. 

“He’s taking me to the Guggenheim,” John replied, not worrying about letting his excitement show.It would be the fourth museum date, and he was looking forward to it. 

“Really?”Her voice rose with skepticism. 

“Yeah.Why?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, waving a hand to dismiss the matter.John wasn’t fooled and pressed further. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” 

Grace sighed and looked down at her wineglass.“I haven’t told you much about my dating past, have I?” she said softly enough that he had to lean forwards to hear.“I’ve had even worse luck than Harold, if you can believe it,” she added self-deprecatingly. 

“You’ll have to explain, because I think you’d be able to find a partner pretty quickly, from where I’m sitting.” 

“Well, thanks for that,” she murmured.“Spending so much time alone, painting, it’s hard to find someone who understands me.Anyway, over the years, I’ve had trouble connecting with men romantically.Kind of like Harold in that way.But there was one man… We met in January.It was unusually warm, and I was out painting.He came over to me and said hello.He seemed nervous, like he wasn’t sure it was ok to interrupt me, but he did, and we connected right away.He was eating an ice cream cone, and offered me one.We ended up talking for hours.” 

She paused.“It was the most comfortable I’d ever felt with a man, and we grew very close very quickly.We went on dates, went out to eat, took in shows.He didn’t know much about art, but wanted to learn, so we went to museums together.” 

John shifted, impatient to hear how all this connected to Harold, but held his tongue.Clearly, Grace wanted him to know about this for some reason, so he told himself to keep his mouth closed and let her finish. 

“For my birthday, he sent me on a scavenger hunt all around the city.It was the most thoughtful birthday present I’d ever gotten.” 

“He sounds like a good guy,” John commented. 

She smiled fondly.“He is.”She brushed her hair behind her ears.“The scavenger hunt ended at the Guggenheim.He’d secretly purchased my favorite piece of art and donated it to the museum.He pretended to be a docent, but I saw through it.”She laughed lightly.“So there we were, standing in front of my favorite piece of art, and he said he loved me.” 

John felt something click in his head.“Harold,” he whispered. 

“He so does love grand gestures,” she answered.“I said I loved him back and kissed him.” 

John blinked a few times.“Um…”

“He stepped away from me and left.He literally _ran_ ,” she said.“Didn’t say anything, just ran, with a look of terror on his face.”She set down her wineglass.“I didn’t know he was gay, of course,” she explained.“It’d never come up, because I thought he was straight and courting me in this adorable old-fashioned way, and he thought he was making a new friend who he really cared about.” 

“Wow.” 

“Yeah,” she said with another laugh.“I tried calling him later, but he didn’t answer.I tried again the next day, and the next.I still didn’t know about him, yet, all I knew was that he ran away after I kissed him.By the second or third week of silence, I came to the conclusion that he must have been gay and panicked when I kissed him.” 

“Did you try telling him that?” 

“He’d disconnected his phone number.” 

“Hearing about this, I’m surprised he didn’t do the same thing for me last month,” John muttered. 

“I wouldn’t let him,” Grace informed him.“He wanted to, but I made him promise to wait a little while.” 

“Thanks.I owe you one.” 

She smiled and patted his arm.“I had the sense you’d be worth the effort,” she teased with a twinkle in her eye.“So to finish the story, about a month later, Nathan Ingram shows up at my apartment at eight o’clock at night, holding Harold in place by the back of his neck.Harold couldn’t look at me.He just stared down at his shoes.Nathan smiled at me and said: ‘There’s been a miscommunication, and Harold’s here to explain and fix things.’He gave Harold a little shake.‘Aren’t you, Harold?’So Harold nodded and started talking at the floor.” 

“What did he say?” 

“‘I’m gay,’ he said.Then he spent five full minutes talking himself around and around in a circle and then into a pretzel as he’s so good at doing.I’m not sure any of the three of us knew what he was trying to say at the point he wound down, but ‘I’m gay’ is pretty clear, so I at least had the basics.” 

John smiled, amused.“At least I’m not alone in having to deal with him when he’s like that.” 

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it.” 

“No, it’s not.And he’s worth it.”He paused.“So, no boyfriends after that?” 

“I tried a few times, but I usually get so nervous and flustered when I talk to men…”

“You’ve never had a problem with me, as far as I can tell.” 

“I knew you were already unavailable.That makes it easier.”She sighed.“I’ve pretty much given up at this point.” 

“Huh,” John grunted, rubbing his chin.John and Grace’s phones chirped at the same moment.He pulled his out to look.“He’ll be another hour,” he reported.“And he’s too tired to go out and wonders if I’d be all right with staying in,” he added when the second text came only to his phone.He started typing a positive response. 

“Do you mind if I paint?” Grace asked. 

John shook his head, smiling that she felt the need to ask after knowing each other as long as they had, especially when it was her house and her hobby and he was the interloper waiting for his boyfriend while lounging on her couch.“Not at all.” 

.

.

.


	22. John's Better Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a choice about his relationship with Harold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted yesterday, and that posting this quickly isn't my usual schedule, but I just managed to fill some plot holes in later chapters and I feel so excited that I decided to post early. 
> 
> I also have another story in the works, which has yet to have a title... 
> 
> Sexytimes ahead! Enjoy!

John half-lay, half-sat on Harold’s couch, his legs across Harold’s lap, a pile of colored paper strewn across his chest as he folded an origami bird, the book of instructions propped against a pillow.Harold’s laptop was across his shins, and every so often Harold paused his typing to rub John’s thigh or tickle the big toe that popped out of the hole in his right sock.Grace was across the room, painting.She was humming to herself, mostly in-tune with the instrumental music that flowed from the stereo. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so domestic in my life,” John exclaimed out of nowhere.Harold and Grace turned to him in surprise at the sudden speech.“I like it,” he added, offering Harold the completed paper crane with a wink and a flourish. 

The origami book was a birthday gift from Harold, something small to commemorate the day while they were still in the early stages of dating.John took to the art immediately, and spent at least an hour a day practicing new designs.It helped him feel calm.It helped him feel connected to Harold when they weren’t together.Plus, his shitty room didn’t look as bad with folded paper animals in a rainbow of colors on every surface. 

To top it all off, Iris approved and encouraged him to show her some of his skills in session.That made him feel proud of how hard he was working to get better.He was also beginning to suspect it helped his left hand because of the fine motor skills required. 

Harold blinked slowly at him for a long moment, then closed his laptop with a decisive click, shoved it down the side of the couch, pushed all the papers off John’s chest so they made a mess all along the floor and squirmed his way into tackling him, kissing him voraciously.John gave an involuntary groan and hugged Harold closer. 

“Aaaaand, that’s my cue to leave,” Grace said with a bright laugh.She tossed her brush in a small jar of paint thinner, put the canvas cover over her work and skipped over to them.“Give me five minutes before you get too loud,” she continued, kissing each of their cheeks.John and Harold stared at her retreating back for a moment before bursting into laughter as soon as her bedroom door closed behind her. 

“I feel like a teenager,” John admitted, his eyes shining. 

“Who just got caught by a teacher or parent,” Harold agreed. 

They kissed quietly for the requisite five minutes, then added another five, just to be sure she’d be settled with her laptop and music before they started petting and feeling each other up.Usually they’d have excused themselves to the bedroom, but Grace had given them permission to do this in the living room, too — a standing agreement as long as they cleaned up after themselves.Harold undid John’s belt and fly, then slipped his hand down the front of his pants to cup his dick through the cotton of his briefs.John groaned, feeling himself harden in Harold’s hand. 

Harold pulled back and smiled, his eyes soft. 

John reached up and ran his thumb along Harold’s lower lip.Harold’s smile deepened.He wrapped his hand around John’s length, giving him a few slow pulls, twisting around the head.He let go and shifted so that he could slip his hand under the elastic waistband and touch John’s skin, repeating the motion.John gasped. 

“I want to touch you, too,” John whispered, arching his back and bearing his throat for Harold’s kisses.He’d found that he liked asking permission to touch.It turned them both on, and it felt respectful of Harold and his hesitations. 

“By all means,” Harold replied, his lips warm on John’s neck.John quickly got Harold’s pants open.“Oh,” Harold breathed, twitching against John’s palm.“Yes, let’s do this for a little while,” he murmured, matching his rhythm to the one John created for them. 

They kept at the same slow pace for a while, kissing and thrusting into each other’s hands.John let himself get lost in the moment, feeling every minute shift, every breath, every burst of pleasure as Harold coaxed the first few drops of precum from his dick. 

This was good.This was _great_. 

This was what they always did. 

John wondered if it was time to try stretching a boundary after a full month of making out and handjobs.He decided to chance it.If he never asked, he’d never know.“I want to taste you, Harold,” he pleaded, his voice low with longing.“Please, can I suck you off?Do you trust me enough?” 

“I trust you.” 

John shuddered at hearing the words.“Please!” 

“I — I haven’t washed since this morning — I — I’m not —“

“I don’t mind,” John said with a shrug, pulling his hand free to spit in his palm before stroking Harold again.“But if you want to wash up first…”

“No, I —“ Harold paused, his breathing suddenly quicker, his eyes wider — excitement rather than anxiety.“I — that is —“He blew out a deep breath that was half groan.“God, the thought of you doing that _now_ … when I haven’t washed… ”He leaned forward and shoved his tongue into John’s mouth for a wild, dirty moment.“Come to the bedroom,” he said when he pulled back. 

Despite the speed at which they crossed the apartment and tore off each other’s clothing, John felt the need to slow down again once they were naked.It was the first time being completely naked together, and he wanted to savor the experience.Harold had no objections, and they spent a long time just touching and kissing various parts of each other’s bodies.Harold gave special attention to John’s scars, bathing them with kisses and murmured words of praise. 

The itchy, numb feeling didn’t come, which surprised and pleased John, who’d been afraid of what would happen when Harold got his first up-close look at all of them all at once. 

Finally, John found his face inches from Harold’s cock.It was the most average erection he’d ever seen.He hadn’t been able to tell from just hand jobs, but it looked just about perfect.Not too long or too short, not too thick or too skinny or curvy — it was even circumcised, something John preferred when he sucked dick.Oh, he’d have sucked Harold’s anyway, but this just made it better for him.He held himself back from commenting on the Goldilocks-ish thoughts he’d been having, figuring Harold wouldn’t appreciate a break in the mood. 

He looked up Harold’s body to see him disheveled and sweaty, gloriously on display for him.John caressed Harold’s stomach once again, kissing his navel and tickling him gently.Harold laughed and shoved John’s head down. 

“Get on with it,” he said, his voice playful and happy.“Don’t make me wait now that I’m ready,” he added. 

John returned his gaze to Harold’s cock.He licked his lips deliberately slowly.A single bead of precum swelled and overflowed from the head, sliding down the shaft at an arctic pace.He watched, mesmerized, then bent and licked it up with one quick stripe. 

“Fuck!” Harold shouted, thrusting up so suddenly his dick poked John in the nose. 

John grinned, held Harold’s hips down, and took the head in his mouth. 

“You realize I’m gonna swallow, right?” John asked after a few minutes. 

Harold continued cursing right through and then beyond his orgasm. 

John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued grinning, watching Harold groan and shiver as he helped him through the aftershocks.He crawled up the bed, settling on his side next to Harold so they could kiss.Harold grabbed his hair with both hands and hauled him closer, deepening the kiss. 

“Shall I reciprocate?” Harold murmured, kissing along John’s jaw.He stroked his cheeks and the back of his neck and down his arm.“Would you mind taking a quick shower first, though?” 

Harold dozed through John’s shower, waking readily when he slipped under the sheet to join Harold and press his warm naked body against him.He immediately started kissing John, hungrily, as if making up for lost time. 

Harold’s approach to blow jobs bordered on the neurotic, and it seemed to John that he had just become Harold’s latest research project.With Harold’s lips around his dick and Harold’s tongue tickling his frenulum and Harold’s hands providing a steady rhythm, he had nothing to protest about.Nor was he inclined to protest Harold’s thoroughness or dedication to milking an exquisitely pleasurable orgasm from him. 

Afterwards, Harold cuddled up against John’s side and nuzzled his neck, kissing with the casual comfort of post-orgasm lassitude and relaxation.John ran his fingers through Harold’s messy hair, smiling in contentment. 

“Will you stay the night?” Harold whispered after a few minutes. 

John knew Harold’s casual tone was forced.He had the impression that Harold desperately wanted him to stay but was afraid of being rejected — which was why he hadn’tasked before. 

John had never stayed over.He probably should’ve, but anxiety about money always had him out the door after Harold fell asleep.He wondered how many men had hurt Harold by leaving too quickly after something that clearly meant a lot to his nervous, emotionally fragile lover. 

He pulled Harold closer and kissed his ear. 

How much had _he_ hurt Harold by leaving? 

“I’ll stay,” he replied.“I can’t imagine going home after this.”It was true, too.Something about being naked together had changed how John felt.Something about the intimacy of tasting each other’s semen, still warm and straight from the source.Something about the courage Harold exhibited by asking a question that put his vulnerability out there for John to see. 

Money was nothing next to Harold’s relieved smile.How could he have thought otherwise? 

“Oh, good.I took the liberty of getting you something to sleep in…” Harold trailed off with a gasp as John started sucking on his earlobe.“Oh!” 

“Harold, let’s enjoy this some more,” John murmured, fully committed to this new plan, to being there for Harold, to staying the night.“We don’t need to worry about tomorrow, or even five minutes from now.” 

“But…”

“Harold,” John purred, dropping his voice the way he knew Harold liked.“Let’s _cuddle_.” 

“Cuddle?You mean it?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it,” John replied, not liking the raw incredulity in Harold’s tone.He’d put it there, though, hadn’t he, by not staying, even though they routinely cuddled after handjobs?He’d have to fix it.He shifted, rolling Harold to his back and locking a leg around his waist.“I’ve never been good at cuddling,” he continued in the same melodic purr.“Never had the time to practice, I guess.Why don’t you teach me?Make sure I learn how to do it properly?” 

Harold threw his arms around John and squeezed him to his body.He made a gasping, sobbing sound and held on tightly.John wrapped his own arms around Harold and held him as he cried softly in relief. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” John murmured, the endearment slipping out without conscious thought.“I’m not going anywhere.” 

He knew with certainty that he’d made the right decision. 

.

.

.


	23. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John woke in a cold sweat, fear making his heart race.

John woke in a cold sweat, fear making his heart race.He sat up in bed.An unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar sounds.It wasn’t a tent or barracks, but…His skin felt too tight.His arm ached.He squeezed it, feeling the pits and lumps of his scars. 

“John?” a sleepy voice asked beside him.His eyes moved towards the sound, even though it was too dark to see more than a shadow. 

“Harold?” he croaked, recognizing the voice. 

“Are you all right?Is it a nightmare?” 

“I —“John choked, unable to form words.He felt Harold’s hand on his lower back, warm against his clammy skin.He threw off the covers and staggered from the room.In the bathroom, he turned on the tap and cupped his palms under it, splashing his face with cold water.He tried again, drops trickling down his chest and back, making him shiver. 

Feeling a little more calm, he turned off the water and dried his face.There were droplets of water turning the light gray sweatpants he wore into a spotted mess.He peeked around the bathroom door, hearing movement. 

The light over the stove showed him that Harold was in the kitchen, putting a kettle on a burner and lighting the soft blue flame of natural gas.He shut the door again and leaned against it, allowing himself to sink to the floor.He lowered his head to his knees and linked his fingers behind his head.He closed his eyes. 

In the back of his mind, he heard the kettle whistle, but he was too lost in his head to pay attention.He kept hearing gunfire, feeling the bite of a desert wind at night. 

A gentle tap on the door. 

“John?I’ve made you some tea.I’ll leave it out here in a thermos, so it’ll be hot whenever you want it.Take as much time as you need.” 

He shut his eyes again, feeling immense gratitude that Harold didn’t try to talk to him or touch him beyond that initial press of palm to back. 

The tea was still hot when John managed to extricate himself from his panic some indeterminate time later.Ginger with honey and a hint of anise, it soothed his stomach without being too sharp.He shuffled back to Harold’s bedroom to find his boyfriend sitting up in bed with his laptop, typing away.Harold raised his head from his screen. 

“Are you feeling more grounded?” 

“This is good tea,” John responded, moving to take a seat on the free side of the bed.The side closer to the door — where he could get out faster or protect Harold if something happened. 

“Yes, I chose this side deliberately for that reason,” Harold said dryly, reading John’s thoughts.“The tea is an old family recipe, on my father’s side.Once I was old enough, I would make it for him on especially bad mornings.” 

John gulped the last of his tea and put the plastic mug back on the thermos, then placed it on the nightstand next to him.“Can I —“

“Put your head in my lap?Certainly.”Harold saved his work and put aside his laptop, patting his thigh in invitation.“Would you like me to stroke your hair?” 

“Yes, please,” John whispered, curling up so he could rest his cheek against Harold’s thigh.He immediately felt Harold’s fingers running through his hair.He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift. 

“Why do you live with Grace?” John asked out of the blue some time later.He’d mentioned to Harold that he and Grace had talked about how they met, but he’d never gotten an answer to this particular question. 

“I tried living on my own for many years,” Harold answered softly, massaging circles on John’s scalp.“I became lonely and depressed, and even more anxious than I am now.After knowing Grace for a few years, we decided to try living together, as we each wanted the comfort of a companion to come home to, even if that companion wasn’t a romantic partner.We enjoy spending time in close proximity, which is why we chose this apartment.I can code or read while she paints, as we’re each able to maintain that intense focus on our work without undue distractions, but would be easily available to each other if needed.We cook for each other, though she’s better at it than I.We confide in each other.She’s even been my date to a few charity functions that Nathan or Arthur forced me to attend.” 

“I’m glad you’ve had her in your life,” John said sincerely. 

“As am I.”Harold paused.“I’m glad you two get along so well.” 

“I like her.She’s got spunk,” John replied, deciding against mentioning that one time Grace glared at him for leaving after being with Harold.She’d been perfectly nice since, and he occasionally wondered if she and Harold talked about it, since the topic never came up again. 

Harold smiled where John couldn’t see.“Shall we try to sleep again?” 

.

.

.


	24. Harold's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold has a plan for how he wants the evening to go. It involves sending Grace to her sister's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get into some sexy times here, so be warned. And enjoy! If you're interesting in a RL update, check the notes after the chapter.

“I was thinking… today’s three months since we had that break,” Harold murmured shyly, taking John’s coat.The apartment was dark, Grace absent from her usual spot on the couch or at her easel.Odd, for quarter-past eleven.Did she have a date of her own?He doubted it, given what she’d shared before about her past, but you never knew. 

“It is,” John replied, having been conscious of the date all evening.He’d thought about bringing flowers, but decided against them at the last minute as too cliche.Maybe that hadn’t been the right call? 

Hmm… a month of dating, two and a half weeks of radio silence, then three more months of dating… that made close to five months being together!By God, he’d definitely bring flowers at the six-month mark, even if he had to scrape up change by going through all his pockets.Harold deserved nice flowers.Not roses, they weren’t interesting or complicated enough.Maybe orchids?But could he afford them?He didn’t care.He’d make it work. 

Besides, he was eating better now that he spent so much time with Harold.They often ate in, with Grace, and homemade food was a lot cheaper than restaurants.Except when Harold did the shopping.He had a penchant for finding unusually expensive versions of everyday items — who needed a $30 block of cheese? 

He leaned over to kiss Harold’s ear.“Sounds like you have more plans than the dinner and movie we just finished,” he added, nuzzling and mouthing at Harold’s neck. 

“Stop it,” Harold exclaimed, giggling and pushing John away playfully.“You know I’m ticklish there!” 

“Maybe that’s why I’m doing it?” John purred, moving in from a different angle.Harold shrieked happily and allowed John to lift him off the floor, spin them around, and press him against the wall to kiss him with passion.He clung to John’s shoulders, pulling him closer, shifting his hips so his thigh pressed between John’s legs.“Maybe you like it?” John continued. 

Harold groaned, letting his head roll back to bump against the wall.“Take me to bed and ravish me,” he gasped. 

John chuckled.“Tell me you didn’t read that in a book?” he teased. 

“Of course I did!I still want you to do it!” 

John pulled back to meet Harold’s eyes. “Are you being serious?” 

“I’m ready to try,” Harold answered.“Grace is at her sister’s, so we won’t have to worry about being interrupted.”He blushed all the way up to his ears. 

John kissed him again, suddenly and hard, then grabbed Harold’s waist and tossed him over his shoulder.Harold gave an involuntary kick and another joy-filled shout, but John expected it and repositioned him more comfortably.John moved through the apartment, careful of Harold’s precarious position, and brought them to the bedroom, where he lowered Harold to the bed.Harold wouldn’t let him go and dragged him down on top of him.They started kissing in earnest and tugging at each other’s clothing, getting tangled in the sheets. 

“Is it wrong to be so turned on by you manhandling me like this?” Harold demanded breathlessly between fevered kisses. 

“Not if you tell me to stop when you’ve had enough,” John answered, the same thing he said every time Harold asked. 

“You’d stop though, right, if —“

“Damn right, I’d stop!” 

“Let’s get these clothes off.” 

Once they were naked John took over, positioning Harold exactly where he wanted him — on his hands and knees, a position they’d never tried before because it felt disconnected to Harold.Harold’s dick hung heavy between his legs, already completely erect.John groped him gently, getting a feel for his excitement. 

“Here’s how this is going to go,” John said, running both hands up and down Harold’s back along his spine.“I’m going to eat you out.” 

Harold gave a breathy moan.“Yes,” he whispered. 

“I’m going to stretch you,” John continued.He got up on his knees behind Harold.“And I’m going to suck you,” he added, rubbing the head of his dick along Harold’s crack.Harold moaned again and pressed back against him.“And then… then I’m going to eat you out again.” 

Harold turned sharply to look over his shoulder, his eyebrows knit in confusion. 

“And then, when you’re begging, I’m going to take this virgin ass of yours!” John declared in conclusion.“Because you know what I want, Harold?I want you to be so ready that it’s painful to wait any longer.I want you so ready you’re cursing me to keep going.I want you so ready that you look me in the eyes and _demand_ to be fucked, you understand?And I won’t do it until then, got it?” 

“Yes,” Harold gasped. 

“What’s your safeword?” 

“Red.” 

“If you want me to slow down?” 

“John, please just start!” Harold exclaimed. 

“If you want me to slow down?” John repeated. 

“Yellow, ok?Just please get on with it!” 

“Take off your glasses.” 

Harold did as he was told and John shoved, repositioning Harold so his forehead was on his forearms and his ass was high in the air.He gathered some saliva on his tongue and leaned forward. 

“Mother of God,” Harold cursed, spreading his legs wider. 

John smiled to himself and continued the slow assault, licking a circle around Harold’s opening.They’d never done this before.No fingering, either, though they talked about it.Harold had been clear from the beginning that he wanted John to top first, though he’d be interested in trying the other way at some point.He was too nervous to try topping without having experienced it himself.He was also clear that he didn’t want John touching him there — with fingers _or_ tongue — until he was ready for sex.John tried to explain that it was good to build up to it, but Harold had been insistent, and John decided it was better not to argue.If Harold didn’t want to be licked or fingered, he wouldn’t do it. 

John let his tongue poke at the pink pucker before flattening it to warm and moisten the area.By the time Harold was loose enough that he could tongue-fuck him, Harold had devolved from the more creative curses and swears to a simple litany of _fuck fuck fuck._ John considered the first part of his plan a success. 

Stretching Harold proved to be an extremely exciting activity for them both, especially when John forcibly pushed Harold over and rolled him onto his back.Before Harold had time to process what had happened, John shoved two fingers back inside him and swallowed his dick.Harold came with a shout. 

“You’re cheating,” Harold croaked a moment later when he got his breath back. 

“Nope,” John declared smugly.“I’m in charge, remember?” 

Harold lay back and let his knees fall open.“You’re supposed to fuck me,” he complained. 

“Oh, I will.Have no doubts about that.” 

It took a little while, but by the time John coaxed Harold to a second erection, he was reasonably sure that Harold’s body was ready for his dick.Harold seemed to pick up on John’s readiness immediately, because he reached out an arm and drew John down for a deep kiss. 

“You ready?” John asked in a hushed whisper, trailing his clean fingers over Harold’s cheek tenderly as he held his gaze. 

“I’m not going to beg, I don’t think, but, yes, I’m ready,” Harold responded.“Are you sure _you’re_ ready?” 

“It might hurt a little,” John hedged. 

“I know.But I trust that you’ll take care of me,” Harold said without hesitation.“Now if you’re ready, please fuck me, John Harris.” 

John closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the trust Harold was showing him.He took a few deep breaths, allowing his anxiety to drain away.Harold wanted this. _He_ wanted this.They were both ready. 

Harold’s ass was as loose and relaxed as John could make it as he pressed the head of his dick to Harold’s opening.He held himself in place, one hand on his dick, the other holding him up as he locked eyes on his boyfriend’s face.He pushed.There was a moment of resistance, then Harold closed his eyes and let his body relax.John slipped inside easily.Harold’s eyes popped open again as John paused, just the head of his dick inside him. 

John raised an eyebrow in question and Harold nodded quickly.John started easing himself in farther.Harold’s eyes drifted closed again as his mouth fell open. 

“Oh, wow,” he breathed, panting, elongating the word to three syllables.He shifted his hips in invitation and John started thrusting gently, moving in and out at a steady pace until he was all the way inside and Harold was clutching at his arms to have something to hold onto. 

“Wow,” Harold repeated as John angled his hips and thrust against his prostate — John hadn’t been avoiding it all night, but he hadn’t focused on it, either, specifically so it would feel extra good with him inside Harold for the first time.“Oh!Yes, more of that!” 

John grinned wildly, continuing the steady movements.Harold laughed, a strange mix of humor and pleasure that burst from his mouth, making John smile even harder.He shifted again, bending Harold almost in half to lean over him to kiss him.Harold made a brief sound of protest but relaxed quickly, allowing John to keep his legs up and out of the way with his arms under his knees.John picked up his pace. 

“Ah!John, stop!Yellow!Yellow!”

John froze. 

“Too fast,” Harold gasped.“Too much.”He made a strange shooing motion that John interpreted as a need to back off. 

John let go of Harold’s legs and slipped out, then helped him find a more comfortable position.He petted Harold’s cheeks and hair, murmuring soft reassuring words and kissing him. 

“I — I think we have to stop,” Harold whispered after fifteen minutes. 

“Ok,” John answered, still petting him.“Whatever you need.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” John murmured, rolling Harold to his side so he could spoon up behind him and hold him.“We tried, and it didn’t work.That’s ok.Nothing to be worried about.Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Harold sniffled.“I’m sorry.I wanted it to work.” 

“It’s ok.Do you need anything else, or are we good like this?” 

Harold hesitated.John waited patiently. 

“Maybe, could you draw me a bath?” Harold finally asked.“And, maybe, do you think — do you think we’d both fit?” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” John said. 

.

.

.

Despite all of John’s reassurances, Harold felt devastated and crushed by his inability to ‘go all the way’.At first John tried to argue that they had — _dick in ass = sex,_ no matter how long or short a time the dick was in said ass, but Harold wouldn’t consider it finished until they’d both had orgasms while doing it.After their bath — John _did_ fit, barely — Harold cried himself to sleep in John’s arms, John’s voice a low rumble of comfort in his ear. 

He woke to the smell of pancakes. 

“You’re still here?” he asked, surprised, when he shuffled into the kitchen to find John at the stove. 

“Where else would I be?” John wondered, passing a plate of still-steaming pancakes to Harold.Butter and syrup already waited on the kitchen island. 

“I don’t know.Anywhere but here?” 

John sighed and put down his spatula.He turned to Harold, met his eyes.“Nothing’s changed between us,” he declared firmly.“You want to try again sometime, you never do, both are fine.I’m happy with what we do.I don’t need _that_ if it stresses you out to do it.” 

Harold felt tears at the edges of his eyes again.John must have noticed because he flipped off the range and rounded the island to pull Harold into a hug.He kissed the top of Harold’s head. 

“I’m telling the truth, Harold.All this, what we have, it’s great.I’m happy.I want you to be, too.” 

“It’s not supposed to be enough,” Harold mumbled against his chest. 

“Who says?You know what, who cares?As long as we’re happy, it doesn’t matter, does it?” 

“I wanted to do it.” 

“I know.And we’ll try again, but not today, all right?Today is about relaxing and _not_ about fretting.” 

“I love you,” Harold mouthed, his face still pressed against John’s chest, careful not to vocalize. 

“I love you, too,” John murmured, raising Harold’s face to meet his eyes and show him his sincerity. 

“How —“

“I love you,” John explained.“It’s the most terrifying feeling I’ve ever had when I wasn’t at war.What else would you be too scared to say out loud?” 

Harold’s face broke into a watery smile as he started crying for a completely different reason than he’d expected.John kissed away his tears, and if there was perhaps a little extra salt on his face than would have ordinarily been there from his own tears alone, Harold was smart enough not to mention it. 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't been posting as frequently as usual, and I thought I'd let you know what's been going on, for those who are interested. 
> 
> I had eye surgery earlier in the month. (Planned -- cataract surgery, one of the most common surgeries in the country.) Leading up the the surgery and the second one next month, I've been stressed more than usual and my eyes have been extremely tired, so I haven't been able to write as much. I doubt I'll be able to pick up my pace again until September, when I'm fully recovered from the two surgeries and back from a computer-free vacation. 
> 
> I'm doing very well. I have a supportive partner, and I haven't slipped into depression, which is the other reason I tend to stop writing. All will be well! Just thought some of you might want to know.


	25. New Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace enlists John in an attempt to help Harold with his anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I've taken a small hiatus thanks to eye problems, but I'm getting back into writing again, and I thought you might appreciate the next chapter in this story. I haven't been keeping up with the fandom, and I apologize for not reading & commenting on your stories, but I'll get back into it as soon as I feel able. I love the community, and I'm not giving up. Just taking a break. 
> 
> Love to all, and enjoy the chapter!

John answered the unfamiliar number cautiously, not sure if he’d get an auto-dial or a political campaign call, the only calls he got from unknown numbers these days.He always answered, though, just in case.He never knew when his past was going to catch up with him in unsavory ways. 

“Hello?” 

“John, it’s Grace.Do you have a minute?It’s not urgent, so don’t stop what you’re doing, but, if you have time…”

“What can I do for you?”He wondered why he didn’t already have her number in his phone but let it go.He had it now. 

“Actually, it’s more of a favor for Harold.Or a surprise.I’m not sure which.” 

“Now I’m intrigued.”John put down the book he’d been reading and leaned back on his park bench.He had 15 minutes until his lunch break was over, then he’d be back to pruning the bushes and trees.“What’s up?” 

“Well, Harold said you were going to Arthur’s place next month for a dinner party… Did he say anything about what to wear?” 

John’s hand twitched involuntarily and he switched the phone to his right hand.“No… just that he’d buy me a new tie for the occasion, which I took to mean I should wear my suit.Am I missing something?”

Grace sighed softly.“Actually, yes.He wants to buy you an entire suit, but he thinks you’ll be insulted if he offers.” 

John opened his mouth to respond and closed it.“Huh.” 

“So he’s not going to ask,” she continued.“And he’s working himself into a ball of anxiety about the whole thing.He wants to show you off to everyone, you see.It’s been six or seven years since he’s wanted to introduce a boyfriend to the whole group, and…”She trailed off. 

“He thinks they’ll judge me if I wear my $100 off the rack suit that doesn’t quite fit me?” John concluded.“Or even resurrect the one he got me on the fly that time, because it’s not high enough quality?But money’s been an issue between us in the past, and I was clear I didn’t want him buying me expensive things, and whatever suit he’d want to get me would be significantly more costly than $100 and there’s absolutely no way I’d be able to afford anything of the proper quality on my own?” 

“Right.Exactly.” 

“So instead of him asking and me potentially rejecting the idea, you’re taking the matter out of his hands by coming to me yourself?” 

“Yes.” 

“He doesn’t know you’re talking to me about it, does he?” 

“No, he doesn’t.And ordinarily, I wouldn’t intervene, but he’s really worked up about it.” 

“Do you have a solution in mind?” 

.

.

.

Harold’s jaw hit the floor as soon as he saw John at the door, his eyes bugging out of his face behind his glasses as he scanned up and down John’s new suit.John struck a pose, lounging against the doorjamb with a shit-eating grin on his face.He’d deliberately left the first few buttons of his shirt open, knowing Harold would give him a tie, but with the way Harold was ogling his throat, he wondered if he’d end up going to the party without a tie after all. 

Harold groped for words. 

“Uh… I… I…”

“John!You look extra handsome tonight!” Grace exclaimed behind him.“I think the solid color really _does_ highlight the quality of the fabric, just like Pradi said it would.” 

Harold turned to look over his shoulder at her, then back to John. 

“I like the buttons,” John replied, offering his arm so she and Harold could see them closely.Hand-carved, they had tiny birds on them — herons, of course.Pradi had been thrilled at the request and gave John a hearty slap on the back for having such a good idea.Grace took his wrist and ran her fingers over the dark wood, having been with him for the initial consultation but not when he decided on the details.“Never had anything so fancy,” he added with a wink.

They smiled at each other over Harold’s shoulder. 

“Did— Did you two go behind my back to my tailor and swear him to secrecy, just to surprise me?” Harold finally asked, stepping aside so John could enter the apartment. 

“Yes,” John and Grace said in unison. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I had Pradi charge it to your account,” Grace added with a giggle. 

Harold laughed.He pressed a kiss to Grace’s cheek and a deeper kiss to John’s mouth.“What wonderful, devious people you are!” 

.

.

.

Harold’s eyes popped open and he jerked to a sitting position.  John, already half-asleep, mumbled incoherently.  

“Oh, dear Lord.”Harold threw off the sheet and got to his feet, staggering slightly in his haste. 

“It’s just the jizz!” John called helpfully after him as he dashed for the bathroom, not even bothering to cover himself though Grace was in the apartment. 

Harold climbed back into bed thirty minutes later, freshly showered and dressed in pajamas.John blinked sleepily and rolled over to give him space — he’d been sprawled across the entire bed on his back like a starfish, still naked and fast asleep. 

“I should’ve remembered that could happen,” Harold grumbled, tugging at the sheet that was trapped under John’s body.“No wonder so many people wear condoms even with long-term partners they trust,” he continued, snuggling up against John’s back to spoon him.John obligingly shifted his upper leg forward so Harold could rest his own leg on John’s lower leg. 

“I just didn’t think it would happen so fast.Or so… copiously.I’m not sure why it never occurred to me, because your penis was most certainly inside me, so it stands to reason that your semen would be, too, but it felt like so much more coming out…”He trailed off and kissed John’s shoulder.“Definitely a strange sensation,” he added.“But one I’d like to repeat.Nothing like an enema —“ 

John made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a sigh.He tried to bury his face in his pillow. 

“You fulfilled your promise from our first date, you know.You made it very enjoyable.More than that, of course.God, thinking about the times we tried and tonight… it’s like a totally different experience.Not completely, of course, there were necessary similarities, but _knowing_ that we did it, knowing that I’m no longer a —“ 

He broke off, shaking his head.“No, we don’t have to think about that anymore.Thank you for being so patient with me.”He squeezed John tightly.“I’m so — so — _happy_ I was with you for this!”He let out a deep, satisfied sigh.“I don’t know if I could _be_ any happier.”He trailed his fingers down John’s arm and watched the hairs stand on end.There was a strange dry patch on the back of John’s hand.He rubbed at it with his finger, then licked the finger to try to wipe it off. 

“Oh!I think I figured it out!The lube!That’s why it felt like there was more coming out.I didn’t notice it going in, but you must have used a lot, I imagine, so… John, are you listening to me?” 

“‘M trying,” John mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.“Sleepy.” 

“You should sleep, then,” Harold encouraged him.“My anxieties will still be here in the morning.” 

“Sorry,” John added. 

“It’s fine.It’s just that —“

“Harold!Please,” John begged.“ _Please_ let me sleep.” 

“But —“

“Harold,” John moaned, curling slightly away from him. 

“Did _you_ enjoy it?” Harold asked in a whisper. 

“Best sex I’ve had all year,” John declared.Harold froze.His lip quivered.  His voice cracked.  

“You mean you —“

“For fuck’s sake!” John exclaimed.He sat up, grabbed Harold, positioned him on his back, rearranged himself to be on top of him and took Harold’s face in both hands.“I am only having sex with _you_ ,” John said, his eyes intense as he stared directly into Harold’s.“I’m only dating _you_.I _really_ like being with you.But I need to _sleep_.We can talk about all of this in the morning, ok?But if you keep talking, I’m gonna —“He squeezed his lips tightly together and let out a large breath through his nose.“I don’t want to say anything stupid right now, and if we keep talking I’m going to, so _please_ respect my boundary, ok?I just — can’t talk right now.” 

“Okay,” Harold breathed, nodding.“I’m sorry.” 

John closed his eyes and let out a pained sigh.“Me, too.But we’ll be fine, ok?We’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

“Okay,” Harold said again. 

John lowered his face to nuzzle at Harold’s cheek.“I love you.You know that, right?”Harold turned his head for a quick kiss. 

“I do.” 

“Good,” John sighed.He stopped trying to hold himself up and crashed down onto Harold, taking his breath away for a moment.He slithered to the side so that he was laying half on top of Harold, with an arm over his chest and his leg pinning Harold at the waist.“Good,” he said again.He started snoring almost as soon as he closed his eyes. 

Harold sighed and shut his eyes, gripping John’s forearm.He turned his head slightly.He let out a shuddering breath, allowed a single tear to fall, and rolled over as best he could so that John was wrapped around his back instead of his front. 

He stared into space for over an hour before finally falling asleep. 

.

.

.


	26. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in a good mood after helping rid Harold of his pesky virginity.

John caught himself whistling three times on the way to Harold’s apartment from the subway station.He knew he had a goofy grin on his face because of the way he startled a few women when their eyes met and the immediate wariness with which they looked away.He toned it down when he caught a glimpse of himself in a window reflection.Too happy could be seen as creepy, he reminded himself. 

He shifted the box of pastries under his arm.He’d finally managed to banish the anxiety attack last night after trying many different coping skills from his “toolbox,” which he considered a win.No, he hadn’t been able to stay in bed with Harold as he’d have liked, but he’d left a note when he had to leave.He was even able to control the anxiety about not being able to call since then. 

He closed his eyes for a few steps, reliving last night and the passion that turned into some of the most sensual love-making of his entire life.Harold had reached a new level of relaxation and bliss that allowed him to give himself to John without anxiety, stress or fear — and it had been _wonderful_!Seeing Harold’s face scrunched up in pre-orgasmic need and his high-pitched _please_ gave John the momentum to slow down and thrust deeper, just what Harold needed to come.John remembered the satisfaction of spending while still inside his lover, feeling the aftershocks send burst after burst of semen into Harold as they both shook with pleasure. 

And the kisses afterwards!John felt himself getting hard just thinking about them.The whispered endearments, the breathy groans, the relaxed sighs…

He took the stairs to Harold’s building two at a time and bounced on his feet impatiently as he waited for the elevator.He wanted to see him again.No, _needed_ to see him again. 

Grace’s eyes blazed with anger when she opened the door enough to recognize him. 

“What are _you_ doing back here?” she demanded, crowding forward to slip out of the apartment into the hallway, using her body to force John to step back or risk touching her — something he knew instinctively would be _bad._ She shut the door behind her carefully. 

“Uh, breakfast?” he asked, holding up the pastry box from Harold’s favorite bakery — the one all the way across town he’d gone to so they could celebrate Harold’s lack of virginity in style — he didn’t even care that he’d spent half of his monthly phone bill on the treats.They deserved it. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you _cannot_ just show up as if nothing’s wrong!” 

John frowned, his mood dropping further.“What do you mean?Is Harold all right?Did something happen?” 

“As if you don’t know!” 

“No, I don’t know!What’s going on?” 

She squinted at him, measuring his expression carefully. 

“Oh, shit!” John exclaimed, suddenly understanding.“He didn’t find the note!He thinks I just left!Fuck!”He tugged at his hair, anxiety spiking high and fast.“You’ve got to find it!I’d have called, but I couldn’t find my phone —“

“The phone you left under his bed?” she asked with false sweetness.“The bed you left in the middle of the night after —“

“— and then I didn’t have change for the payphone, and then once I did they were all busted, so I figured I’d just come over with breakfast —“ John continued, talking over her as his anxiety continued building.“I had an anxiety attack!I left a note!I — I — I wasn’t going to just leave!I couldn’t do that to him!I _wouldn’t_!” 

“No?And I suppose you wouldn’t just shut him down in the middle of an emotional conversation either, would you?” 

John blinked frantically, shaking his head.“What?” 

“You don’t remember telling him to shut up so you could sleep?After what you’d just been doing?”

“I remember he had to get up in the night, we cuddled when he got back, he wanted to talk, but I was too tired.I told him.I said I couldn’t wake up enough to talk, that I’d say something stupid if we tried and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  I woke up about an hour later unable to think or be still or --”He rubbed the back of his neck.“I must’ve really fucked that up, huh?Shit.Can I talk to him?Will he even talk to me?I mean, a note isn’t a call or text, but like I said, I didn’t have my phone and there were all these problems, and I was going to call with the change from the pastry, but the payphone was broken —” 

Grace’s expression seemed to soften slightly.“Where did you leave the note?” she asked after a moment.He closed his eyes to jog his memory. 

He shivered, feeling cold suddenly.He rubbed at his left arm.He thought of the first anxiety attack he’d had in front of Harold, that first night he’d stayed over.If he was at his own place, he’d just take a cold shower or go for a run, but he was spending two or three nights a week at Harold’s, now, so they’d had to work out what to do, since the anxiety attacks/flashbacks woke him more than half the nights.Harold’s experiences with his father had provided some guidance, and they’d developed a bit of a routine.John would quietly freak out in the bathroom while Harold would make him the ginger anise tea if he were awake, and they’d stay up and talk afterwards when John was calmed down.If Harold didn’t wake up, John would just return to bed after he calmed down and they’d talk in the morning. 

This time, last night, had been far worse than any of the others.He’d felt like his skin was both too tight and too diffuse, like he was going to break apart if he didn’t do _something._ Not that he could figure out what it was, at first.His heart beat too fast, his body flooded with adrenaline, and he reacted.Running helped when he wasn’t with Harold, and since it was a coping skill he already used, he defaulted to trying it again.He opened his eyes so he could see her expression as he attempted to put the experience into words. 

“I — I tried washing my face, but that didn’t work, and I thought about a shower but I couldn't stand still long enough and I felt like I was going to fall to pieces at any second, and I had to move — and I — I tripped over something in the living room and I realized I was leaving and that I had to leave a note, so I — It was dark, I don’t know what —I took some of your paint, wrote a note on some newspaper with my finger — I couldn’t find a brush —“He felt a tear trickle down his cheek but didn’t have time to feel embarrassed.“He thinks I left?He thinks I —I wouldn’t abandon him like that, not after all we’d been through to get there!I _wouldn’t_!I just couldn’t control the anxiety!I couldn’t make it go away —“

He collapsed to the floor, sitting with his back to the wall and his arms around his legs, the pastry box crumpled where he dropped it.He lowered his forehead to his knees.Suddenly Grace was crouching next to him, an arm around his shoulders. 

“Paint on newsprint in the living room?” she asked, her voice soft and gentle.He nodded, not trusting his voice.“I’ll see if I can find it.Stay here, ok?One or the other of us will be back soon.” 

John nodded as more tears fell from his eyes.He kept his face hidden.  His breath hitched. 

“I wouldn’t hurt him like that,” he whispered to himself.“Not Harold.I wouldn’t hurt him like that.” 

He lost track of time, sitting there in the hallway outside Harold’s door, rocking and crying and silently pleading for forgiveness for his stupidity — and for the goddamned anxiety he _still_ couldn’t control.The door opened and someone stepped out, but he was too far gone to raise his head. 

Harold sighed as he lowered himself to sit on the floor beside John.He rested his hand on the back of John’s neck, then ran his fingers through his hair. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Harold said after a few minutes of miserable silence.“I freaked out when you weren’t in bed.Then when I tried to call you, your phone was under the bed.I made a false assumption.” 

John shook his head.“I should’ve done more.I should’ve tried harder.” 

“You remembered to write a note in the middle of what Grace tells me was quite a powerful panic attack,” Harold whispered.“I’d say that’s more than enough.” 

“I could’ve woken you, explained.” 

“It doesn’t sound like you’d have been able to explain at the time.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did _nothing wrong_ ,” Harold reassured him.“Nothing!”He stroked John’s neck again.“I made myself crazy and panicked.The paper was there, in the middle of the living room where you said it was.Face up, even, but neither of us saw it, I was so upset.”He sighed.“My biggest fear about sex was being left behind afterwards.Of course I was going to panic when you weren’t there.That made me not see what was right in front of me.” 

He sighed and bent his own head.“And I tried to push you to talk to me when I should’ve realized you were too tired.But I made it into a bigger deal in my head and —“

“Harold…”

“No, please don’t interrupt.I know my own anxiety can be trying sometimes.To both of us,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.“You’ve always been so good about listening to me, I guess I got used to it and expected it all the time.That’s not reasonable.Of course there are times when you can’t be 100% focused on me.I should’ve listened better.” 

After a few more minutes of tense silence, John felt his shoulders relaxing and his body unclenching.He turned his head to see Harold, his face puffy and his eyes red behind his glasses.He was still in his pajamas. 

“I tried anxiety medication once,” Harold admitted after a long moment.“Back when I was younger, before I met Grace.I was having panic attacks almost every day, about all kinds of small, useless things.So I tried medication.It made my thoughts sluggish.I felt like a zombie.I couldn’t work.That was the worst part.”He sighed and lowered his head.“So I’ve spent years figuring out ways to work around it and use it to my advantage.But it still sneaks up on me sometimes.” 

“Like now,” John suggested. 

“Yes.” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I know.I really do.It was my fault.I jumped to the wrong conclusions.” 

“You ever try therapy?” John wondered.“Because it’s been helping me.” 

“I’ve tried.I never got past the first or second appointment with someone.” 

“Well, I’m still here, and I’m planning on staying for a long time,” John said firmly. 

“I — I realize that.” 

“Part of you doesn’t believe it yet,” John countered. 

“Knowing my history with men, would you trust you?Knowing your history?” 

“You mean that it was just sex for me until we met?I think I’ve proven I’m not just here for sex.” 

“You have,” Harold reassured him quickly.“You have.”He took John’s hand.“I’m just — still scared, I guess.” 

“Yeah, me, too.” 

.

.

.

“I need to see Dr. Campbell today,” John said forcefully to the receptionist who scheduled appointments for all the counselors.He rarely had to deal with her, since he had a standing appointment day and time with Iris, but he knew her by sight.She looked up from her computer, a frown on her face.“Please,” he added lamely. 

“Your name?” 

“John Harris.” 

She typed for a moment.“I see you have an appointment with Dr. Campbell tomorrow.Is there any way you could —“

“No!” he barked, banging the desk with his fist.He felt the jolt all the way up his left arm, ending in a sharp burst of pain in his shoulder.“It can’t wait!” 

She pushed her rolling chair back a foot, distancing herself from him.He backed away, too, hands raised in front of him. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.I’ll be quiet.It’s just really important I see her today,” he explained, speaking just above a whisper.“I can wait as long as it takes,” he added.  He'd decided seeing Iris was more important than any money he might have been able to make that day.   Harold was more important than money.  She frowned, but scooted forward to reach her computer again. 

.

.

.

“What’s going on?” Iris asked later that day when she squeezed in a twenty-minute appointment for him on her lunch break.“Jennifer says you were—“

“Inappropriately angry and intimidating,” John interrupted.“I tried to apologize, but seeing you couldn’t wait.” 

She motioned for him to continue. 

“I fucked up with Harold again,” he said.“Not the way you’re thinking,” he rushed to add.“It was the anxiety.I woke up in the middle of the night and just had to get out of there.”He frowned to himself, staring at his left hand which he was opening and closing rhythmically, trying to counteract the tingling with movement.“I did everything I was supposed to do,” he continued.“I tried cold water.I tried talking myself out of the flashback and anxiety.I tried deep breathing.I just couldn’t calm down and couldn’t stay still.So I left and went running until I exhausted myself so I could sleep again.But the problem was that I left in the middle of the night.I couldn’t stay.And it hurt him because we’d —”He broke off. 

Was it ok to tell her this?Hell, she was his therapist, of course he could tell her!And it’s not like he hadn’t been telling her the updates as things happened…

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.“We had sex, all the way this time, andit was great, but he’s always been worried that whoever takes his virginity will take it and run, no matter how many times I reassured him I wouldn’t.I was out of my mind with anxiety, Iris,” he admitted.“I remembered to leave him a note, but barely.He didn’t find it until _after_ I came back, and he thought I’d just up and left.” 

“I can see why he was so upset to wake up without you there,” she commented, her tone more compassionate than she usually allowed herself to express. 

“He was sobbing!For hours, Grace said.”John shook his head.“Hell, _I_ cried, when I saw what it’d done to him.And you know how often I cry,” he muttered.“There’s got to be something else I can do about the anxiety.Pills, or something.I mean, I did _everything right_ , and this still happened!” 

“What is it about this incident that makes you open to the idea of medication?You’ve refused to even think about it before.” 

“My anxiety hurt Harold.It’s as simple as that.If I do everything I know how to do, if I do all the stupid breathing exercises and cognitive strategies you’ve taught me, and it _still_ doesn’t work?I need something else.Running for four hours in the middle of the night isn’t an ongoing solution!” 

“Well, that’s certainly true.” 

“So tell me, Doc, what’s available?” 

“To start, there are two basic kinds of anti-anxiety medications; those that reduce your baseline anxiety over a longer period of time, and those that work better for in-the-moment anxiety attacks…”

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all so much for the support when I posted last! It's been a rocky road -- I needed 6 surgeries total, but I think I'm at the end of the road soon -- I get fitted for glasses next week, which I'm really excited about! 
> 
> I've been lax with writing until this week. I'm sure you know how it goes. But now that I've started reading my own stuff again, I got inspired to write and offer another chapter for you all. I can't promise regular updates because it's still such a new mood to be back to writing, but I'm still around and will update as I can. 
> 
> Have a great day!


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